


The Magic of Christmas

by Only_1_Truth



Series: If Magic Were Known [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Prostitution, Slow Build, a brief cameo appearance from the Kingsman fandom, magic is known, magical au, misuse of magic, what appears to be animal abuse but actually turns out not to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-09-06 11:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/pseuds/Only_1_Truth
Summary: In a world where magic is known, MI6 is just one of many organizations that work to keep the magical mayhem in check - and James has unique abilities that make him one of the best.  When he gets sent to handle some would-be-warlocks in the park, he expects to find just some kids fooling around.  What he finds is decidedly more than he bargained for...Or, a story in which James ends up saddled with a magically maligned boffin on Christmas Eve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started December 23 of 2018, but since I didn't get it finished in time for Christmas, I've been working on it ever since! This fic is finished, with 7 chapters, so I'll try to get a new chapter up regularly as I get them beta-read and polished up :) 
> 
> All credit for the fic's banner goes to the skillfully glorious (or gloriously skillful?) [Chestnut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chestnut_NOLA/pseuds/Chestnut_NOLA)!

James hated being 'on call,' but this was the price he paid for the specific arcane skills he'd been born with. Low-level castors got nine-to-five jobs, high-powered sorcerers got sensible tasks like warding the Queen's corgis, but rarities like Bond got called in at midnight on a Sunday because some wannabe warlock had powered up a pentagram in central park.

Bond stepped out of his car, leaving it running because he hoped to make this quick. A glance at his watch showed 12:04am. "Four minutes into the day before Christmas, and I've already had enough of it," he griped quietly, then pulled his sleeve back down and adjusted his gloves. The leather of them seemed to slither and cling to his knuckles.

There were some truly terrifying types of magicians out there, but most all of them were registered, and none of their names had come up when someone had reported the neighborhood kids trying their hand at "satanist rituals." James had met a few true practitioners, and before he'd even stepped beyond the glow of his car's headlights, he knew that this wasn't even the real deal. Oh, there was magic going on, but it was the low-grade stuff that tasted like orange peels in the back of his throat and made James want to sneeze. Dammit. He stepped further into the dimness, glad that the local authorities had had the sense to clear the area so that no one else would interfere - because Bond could sense enough magic up ahead to be dangerous to the average person.

To James, though, it was going to be just enough to annoy him, most likely.

The reports had been vague, because the person who'd stumbled across the situation had been both magicless and smart enough not to get too close. Still, what James found himself approaching generally matched what he'd been told to expect: a trio of kids with candles, a pentagram, and the scent of alcohol. A lovely combo, especially since at least one of them had some actual magical talent, it seemed like. Even James had learned to be careful with mixing alcohol and magic, despite the fact that his particular brand of sorcery was generally considered more defensive than offensive. At least, that's what he was officially registered as. Unofficially, he liked to think that he could raise a little Cain in a terrifically offensive way if he put his mind to it. 

Predictably, the kids were chanting in Latin, and while their pronunciation was shit, the intent behind it was actually making the air crackle. James' left hand strayed to his right wrist, idly plucking at the seam of his glove while he eyed the details of the scene from the shadows of the trees. His breath plumed, the cloud of it instantly sucked away into the subtle turbulence of the spell going on. Maybe there was more power being used here than he'd thought. 

Just as James was about to go from irked to mildly impressed, his eyes slid to the center of the pentagram and noticed the limb body of a black cat there. He couldn't tell if it was dead or not, but it looked like someone had poured ice-water on it, and in the winter weather, it was all but frozen to the ground. Suddenly, James found that his patience had evaporated. 

Stepping boldly out into the open now, James peeled his gloves off one by one, stating with all the coldness of winter steel, "I'm not a particularly moral man, but congratulations, you little monsters have managed to cross a line."

James had bought the gloves himself, liking the fit, but Eve had actually been the one to make them into the pair he wore every day. Right now, as he pulled them off and stuck them into his jacket pockets, faint golden sigils winked and flickered from where they were deeply imbedded in the leather. A Glyphist like Moneypenny did subtle but powerful work - nothing less than that would have sufficed. After all, James didn't exactly like to advertise that he was a Spelleater, but at the same time, it took a lot of skill to tamp down his abilities... especially since his ability was to very literally snuff out any magic he came near. 

The faux-dark-wizards had all spun around to face him, waring various expressions of shock. God, they were even wearing makeup. Bad makeup. Bond's friend R was an actual Goth, and she'd have wept at the eyeliner alone being used here. James focused past the facades, though, instead fixing his attention on the boy with the buzzcut who'd gone from surprised to angry and who was already raising up a hand. The air sizzled in front of the idiot’s palm. "Gregory-!" one of the other kids stuttered in warning.

But apparently Gregory was the 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of brat, because he'd already fired off a wad of pure power. The sound of it clawing through the air was like heat-lightning as it winged towards Bond's face. 

It fizzled out half a meter before it hit its target. James didn't bat an eye. Gregory and his two companions all stared, jaws agape now. The ambient magic in the air shifted, as if it had just slid past a black hole. 

James twitched his mouth upwards in a parody of a smile. He said lowly, almost softly, "Not so fun when you pick on someone bigger than you, is it?"

This was usually the point when James' opponents realized that they were dealing with something they were not prepared for. Most magic-users had at least a bit of an idea how to fight with one another, just like any normal kid knew the basic mechanics of how kick someone if they wanted to - but James was, generally speaking, outside the norm. MI6, when they'd taken him in, had created the title of "Spelleater" because magic like his had never been documented before. He was literally the antithesis of magic - and if he wasn't blocking his powers in some way, his very presence would corrode any and all magic around him. It was like an aura, one that took more energy for him to turn off than it to unleash, as he was doing now. It had taken nearly a year for Moneypenny to find a technique to help James' contain it. Right now, though, he didn't want to contain it, so he was actually a little bit elated when Head Brat got over his surprise and decided to get more violent. 

Ahh, some days, James did love the stupid ones... 

This time, the magic that was lobbed James' way looked like actual flames, and the blond-haired man sighed past his teeth, "Why do the newbies always teach themselves fire-magic first?" Probably because it was flashy and easy to set off. Unfortunately, it was also very hard to control, and that was exactly why James got called into situations like this. For example: the fireball, instead of burning its target and then likely setting the park on fire, was met by James' raised, bare palm, where there was a brief sizzling noise like... well, like a fireball being swallowed by a vacuum. Smoke whisped through Bond's fingers as he lowered his hand, and proceeded to stalk forward. As the third magical attack fizzled out a hand-width from his knee, it felt like nothing more than a brief kiss of heat. Technically, Bond's powers did have limits - he'd worked together with Trevelyan at one point to take down a power-hungry Warlock high on fairy crack, and James had consumed so much magic that he'd nearly passed out. He was not truly a black-hole - merely a very, very deep vessel, one with with no release valve. M had warned him that he'd probably push himself too far someday and explode. 

But not today, though. These brats didn't even had enough juice to make him feel it.

The leader of the monstrous little trio kept attacking and James just kept walking forward, like a beast wading into a war. He'd been told that when his anti-magic was active, it did something hellish to his eyes, and he rather hoped so, because while he could forgive kids for messing around with powers they didn't understand, he really did draw the line at animal sacrifice. There was a reason it was illegal, and even if it wasn't, James did have at least a few scruples when it came to innocent creatures. James himself was a very _not_ innocent creature, and it shows now as his eyes burned a phosphorescent blue, and the magic around him just continued to wink out like stars before a storm-cloud. 

It was going to be a dark night indeed. 

There was a ferocious crack like an iceberg being sheared off as James stepped up to the edge of the pentagram. It had been done with white spray-paint on the grass, and it flashed briefly as it tried to maintain stability - but the damage had already been done. One of the other kids, the girl who’d spoken up first, swore and tried to pour more magic into the circle, but James had broken a trip-layered Caim before, and this was nothing but a child's drawing in comparison. 

The candles all leaned towards him before snuffing themselves out, and James stopped the next fireball by reaching the last distance forward and wrapping his hand around the kid's raised wrist. James had been told that when his abilities met skin-to-skin with a caster using magic, it felt like being dunked in ice-water - the more magic being attempted, the colder the sensation. James hoped that right now if felt like frostbite. "What the fuck are you?" the kid finally gasped.

"I'm the one who's going to break your wrist and possibly shoot your friends in the kneecaps if you don't all sit your arses down right this second," James said flatly, using his free hand to brush back his coat - revealing his gun holster. The two Lesser Brats, who had been in the process of slinking away, froze and promptly did as they were told.

~^~

James didn't end up having to shoot anyone, and moments later he had the situation under control, with cuffs on everyone - cold-iron cuffs, which forced James to put his gloves back on again. Despite the fact that his abilities relied on the negation of magic, he still shared at least some of the same weaknesses with other magic-users. Cold-iron stung him like it stung any magic-user, and made him a normal, magic-less human being when he came into contact with it. That's why Eve had used little slivers of cold-iron in the glyphs she'd put into his gloves. She'd hated the entire process, complaining about how ridiculously difficult it was to essentially build a spell out of materials that were inimical to magic. Her fingers had gone numb, she'd said, and she hadn't managed to draw out a proper glyph for weeks after James' gloves were finished. And that was just with tiny, thread-thin slivers of the stuff. James could feel those slivers just barely right now, numbing out his power through the leather of the gloves. 

Full cuffs of cold-iron were wrapped around the bare wrists of the little bastards who had fancied themselves great warlocks. Quiet and sullen, the kids were smart enough not to verbally complain, though. "Hang tight, while I make a call and tell the cops that it's safe to come pick your arses up and take you into custody," James muttered, fishing out his mobile while wandering back to towards the pentagram. It took just a few words to let the authorities know that the situation was secure, and safe for mundane cops to come in. James quietly affirmed that he'd take care of the pentagram. 

There was no need for people to go stomping all over the place, and since the little cat was probably dead, it felt disrespectful to have people around anyway. Fucking kids and their disregard for creatures smaller than themselves... James had killed before - often - but he made a point of only destroying things that were capable of destroying him in return. 

He could hear the authorities handling the kids, back in the shadows of the trees, bringing with them enough light that James could see flashes of things if he turned around and looked: stern-faced cops, that monster Gregory snarling as he was dragged to his feet, his companions looking more scared now than anything else. Served them right. James hoped that they'd learn, but was jaded enough that he doubted it. He turned his attention forward again, to the pentagram, lit only by moonlight now. It was a full moon tonight; another factor that seemed to make idiotic newbies want to try all sorts of occult stuff. And sometimes it worked, too. 

And sometimes it was just devastating. 

James knelt down by the little furred body. It didn't look like it was breathing, although even with the moonlight, it was a bit dark to be sure. When James was in a fight and being a proper Spelleater, his eyes glowed, but that didn't mean he could see in the dark. Wanting to be sure that the poor creature was dead before he gave up on it, James pulled a glove off again - this time just so that he could press bare fingers to frozen fur and seek out a breath or a pulse. 

The moment he got his glove off, though, he felt the hot sizzle of magic against his fingertips, which buckled and then promptly shattered as it came into contact with James' Spelleater aura.

Suddenly the body of the small, black cat was jerking and expanding, its previously clumped fur seeing to turn inky and liquid like dark glass being blown into a different shape. James didn't even have time to jump back before limbs were extending, and fur was peeling away in puffs of jetty smoke. It all smelled acrid and wrong, like turpentine burning, but even as Bond gagged at the scent, the last of the spell was nullified, and James was no longer bent over the body of an unfortunate black cat, but a young man with pale skin and black hair. Groaning, the young man blinked open impossibly green eyes that briefly showed feline, slitted pupils before that faded, too, leaving more normal, hazel eyes with dazed, blown pupils as round as any other person's. "What the f-?" the no-longer-a-cat rasped, then abruptly curled in on himself under the force of a bone-deep shiver. 

James, realizing that he'd just shredded through magic of a higher calibre than he'd been expecting tonight (transformative magics were nothing to scoff at, being both difficult and dangerous), jerked himself into motion. Pulling off his coat, he wrapped it around the young man as much as he could, even as he used his bare hand to check for injuries. "Are you all right? Do you know what happened to you?" he asked, starting with the basic questions even as he tried to get his bearings on the situation. For all he knew, this had been planned, and this youth was as guilty of mischief as the others - although, planned or unplanned, James didn't envy the recipient of a botched transformation.

"I..." the young man answered, blinking in an unfocused way before closing his eyes for another hard shiver. "I was just... walking home. Someone hit me...?"

James' questing hand had just rounded its way to the young man's neck, and when he pressed fingers up into thick, damp, curls, he could feel evidence of a goose-egg even before the other winced. The slender hand that lifted instinctively to feel the injury showed torn knuckles - self-defense wounds. Bond relaxed a bit as he realized that this wasn't another stupid kid with too much magic, but a victim that he could legitimately feel sorry for. "What's your name?" James asked, even as he gently steered the young man's hand away from his minor head-wound. 

"Q."

James could hear that the cops were already clearing out - after all, he'd promised to handle the rest of the magical stuff. He just hadn't realized that it would include a human being who'd been forcibly transformed into a cat for purposes unknown. James almost called out to them, but just as he turned and opened his mouth, he felt a hand grab his wrist and the young man, Q, beg quietly, "Please, don't..." 

Usually, James was known for having problems with authority, yet he obeyed this time, closing his mouth even as he looked back down at Q for an explanation. The young man had rolled onto his back a bit to look up at James more clearly (although he was still squinting nearsightedly), hugging James' jacket close. Despite the fact that he'd clearly been drenched and was freezing cold, the young man pulled the coat back a little now - revealing a better look at just what he was wearing. When Q had gone from a cat back to being a person again, the spell broken, he'd been lying on his right side, Bond at his back. James had seen the only a general vision of dark clothing - long sleeves, dark jeans, shoes. Now, James realized that Q was wearing a thin and rather tattered coat over nothing but a fishnet shirt. And his jeans were very tight indeed. 

Q was trying his best for a winning smile, but it looked strained by shame. "As you can see... well... uh... How can I put this delicately?" Q started to explain, continued shivering making his words catch. He pulled the borrowed jacket closed again. "As much as I'd like to answer questions about what happened to me, there are a lot of other questions that I'd really rather not answer."

James dragged a hand down his face, realizing that with each passing moment, the authorities were retreating further away, and would eventually get in their cars and leave. Dropping his hand and sighing, James finally just asked bluntly, "Are you a prostitute?" 

"Yes." At least Q had the decency to answer without evasion. 

"A runaway?"

This question Q seemed not to have been expecting, because his attempt at a smile finally faltered, and he hesitated. Still, under James' tired but watchful eyes, the young man again seemed to decide to give out the truth: "Also yes. So, as you can see-"

"You're not keen on going to the cops. Bloody fantastic," James grumbled, looking away and rubbing at his jawline as he tried to think. Fuck, this was not how he'd expected to spend the day before Christmas, breaking up a ring of wannabe-warlocks and then finding himself sitting with a recently transformed hooker with family issues. James still didn't even know how or why the young man _had_ been transformed - something that he really should try and figure out, since there were a multitude of possibilities, few of them good. 

Q was sitting up slowly, watching him even as he winced - his head was probably swimming. "So... are you going to turn me in?" he asked, words like hesitant footsteps out onto thin ice. 

And, goddammit, it was the day before Christmas... "No."

Q's expression melted into a look of relief, and he probably would have actually relaxed if he wasn't shivering still. 

"Come on." Still with only one glove on, James gripped Q's elbows, getting them both to their feet. When Q teetered, lifting a hand to his head with a hiss, James steadied him without a thought. "Easy, easy. You got hit pretty hard. Do you remember anything after that?" James asked as he got them both walking in the direction of his car. Q was barely half a head shorter than him, but all limbs, and being forcibly transformed for any reason tended to leave a person pretty off-balance, so James ended up bearing a lot of Q's weight. It was no hardship, as there wasn't really all that much weight there. Q was a skinny little thing. James felt even more sorry for him than before. 

Sadly, Q didn't remember anything else: he'd been jumped from behind, and everything had gone black. He had enough vague memories in between to realize that he'd temporarily been feline, but he couldn't really confirm anything beyond what Bond already knew - that Gregory was the ringleader, and that he had two sidekicks. By the time James got them both bundled into his Aston Martin, Q's teeth were chattering, but he still managed to work his tongue around a question of his own, "So, what's your name? I mean, I'm used to going home with strangers, but I figured I should ask."

"My name is Bond. James Bond," the Spelleater answered, inwardly cringing at Q's second sentence. Most people would have been much more wary of getting into a car with a man they'd only met minutes ago, but not Q - this looked like it was sadly the norm for him. James felt the need to add, "And while I'm going to probably have to get you out of those clothes, rest assured that it's only so you don't catch you death of cold." He was glad he'd left the car running, as he now cranked up the heater until summer-warm puffs of air were coming out of the vents. Q had chuckled at James' last comment, but now closed his eyes blissfully at the instant wave of warmth.

Because Q was trusting him, and had had a truly terrible night by all accounts, James felt obliged to give out a bit more information that he usually kept close: that he was part of the branch of law enforcement that dealt with rogue magic (he didn’t go into the full details about MI6, because the world only knew half of what they did), and that his only claim to magical fame was his ability to negate all magic. "So that's how I changed back!" Q made the connection, to which James nodded. On a whim, he also added that he lived alone and didn't really celebrate Christmas, but that Q was welcome to stay with him until he could get back on his feet. 

Q had chuckled a bit grimly at that, still huddled deep in James' coat but picking now at the frayed knees of his jeans. "I've been trying to get back on my feet for quite some time now. It's harder than I'd expected," he murmured, something distant in his eyes, sad in his smile, "At least, it's hard to do while also keeping a low profile."

Sensing a can of worms that he didn't want to open, James didn't press. Q, in turn, relaxed a bit more when he realized he wasn’t going to be interrogated. When he spoke up again, it seemed purposefully chosen to steer them towards safer topics, "You don't happen to have contact-lens solution at yours, do you? I usually wear glasses, but I'm glad I kept a case of contact-lenses in my pocket, because I seem to have lost my glasses in this whole mess. Everything is terribly fuzzy for me right now." 

James didn't, but said he wouldn’t mind picking some up. Q began to look embarrassed by all James was doing for him right around then, so at the next stoplight, James turned his attention from the road to face Q fully and frankly. "Q," he said, and nearsighted hazel eyes flicked up to him hesitantly, "If you're uncomfortable with me taking you home, I understand, but you just got forcibly transformed by novice practitioners, so I'd really rather not leave you alone right now."

"You mean you're really rather I didn't go back out on the corner working again."

"That, too," James figured he may as well admit. Just as he'd appreciated Q's forthrightness, Q seemed to appreciate his, and pursed his lips but kept listening. "But while I might be insisting on you coming home with me at least for the next few hours, I won't insist on you being blind the whole time. That puts you at more of a disadvantage than I'm completely comfortable with."

The light changed green. There was no one else out on the roads at this hour, though, so James stayed where he was, one arm draped over the wheel and his attention on Q. The dark-haired young man seemed to be searching his features as much as he could without visual aid. "Okay," he finally said, hushed, "I just don't want to impose."

"You won't," James assured gently, shifting the car back into drive.

It wasn't until the next block that he heard Q's soft, "Thank you."

~^~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which the spell isn't quite done with Q yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some hot, alcoholic drinks (much needed) are made in this chapter, so now would be the time to admit that I barely drink, and honestly have no idea what to mix together. Don't judge me *huffy face* On another note, there's a decent amount of magic-babble in this chapter, so apologies if it gets convoluted! I promise that it's balanced out by James+Q cuteness ;)

This whole time, James hadn't bothered to put his second glove back on. He honestly hadn't thought about it. When he wasn't on the job, or in the company of people he knew to magic-users, he tended to relax and forget - and if people were magic-users, and grew uncomfortable, they were usually quick to let him know that his magic-eating aura needed to be locked away. So, since the job was done and Q clearly hadn't said anything, James hadn't thought about it. 

Which led to the next inconvenient surprise of the night. 

Contact lens solution fetched, they reached James' building, but all of the good parking spaces close by were gone. The walk would be a bit chilly, but James waved off Q's offer to return his coat, saying that the still-wet young man needed it more. James just pulled his other glove back on and prepared to exit the car. 

The instant he did, the little threads of cold-iron stopped blocking his abilities as a Spelleater. Q suddenly arched in his seat, and seemed to collapse in on himself violently. Before James could do more than make a reflexive grab for him, the young man next to him had ceased to exist. James did get a handful of his own jacket - and when he lifted it, he found a startled, familiar, rather soggy black cat underneath. "Shiiiit," James said slowly, realizing that this night’s excitement wasn't over.

It was too late at night... no, actually, early in the morning... for this. James had to just pause a moment with a hand over his face, pressing the pads of his fingers against his closed eyes until little stars flashed across the black. When he dropped his hand, Q was still there, and still as feline as before, looking at him in a very stunned fashion. He mewled plaintively. 

"Can you understand me?" James asked, exhausted but still with enough reflexes to make the best use possible out of the situation. This situation was clearly not as cut-and-dried as a simple, one-time transformation spell, so they needed to learn what they could about what was going on. "Nod if you do."

There was a pause at first, which at first made James worry that Q's mind had been transformed, too - and that was dangerous. Transforming the body was relatively simple compared to playing with the thought-process and identity of a person. But then the cat's head purposefully moved up and then down, green eyes big and anxious. James let out a sigh of relief. Good. Spells that transformed the body but kept the mind intact were actually harder to perform (Gregory clearly had more skill than James had initially given him credit for), but safer in the long-run to the person being transformed. Still, the fact that the spell hadn't been completely and permanently shredded the moment it had come into contact with a Spelleater said something for its complexity. It took a special kind of magic to remain intact and then restart when it next got a chance. James knew of only a few kinds that could do that... 

"I think I know how to turn you back again, but first I have to ask you, Q," James said, tone serious despite the fact that he was talking to a cat, "Does this hurt you? It seems like your mind is totally okay in there, so if changing hurts to much, you can just stay-" But Q was already vigorously shaking his head, ears flattening back against his inky-black little skull. "All right then." That answered that. Without further ado, James pulled a glove off again, feeling Eve's magic and the cold-iron growl softly in the dark leather before James' powers were on full-force again. Once more, he felt magic like a static charge against his fingertips, and then the smell of burning turpentine preceded Q's return to human shape.

Q immediately clutched his head, swaying where he sat. "Fuck!" he snarled. James caught his shoulder before he could topple right into the door, his balance shot. "What the fuck is happening to me?" he gasped in a mixture of anger and panic. 

Not wanting to add a panic attack on top of all the other problems they were having, James was quick to try and calm the situation down, keeping one hand on Q's shoulder and letting the young man grab his other hand in a death-grip when he reached towards him. "Shhh, just breathe, Q. The magic they hit you with is stronger than I thought, but whatever it is, it's shut off so long as I keep my powers on - and I'm going to, okay?" Because Q looked so frightened now, James made a show of taking off his second glove, and then stuffing them both into the pockets of his jacket - which was once again loosely draped over one of Q's shoulders. "So here's what we're going to do: we're going to go to my flat, just like we were going to do before. I'm going to call the police to let them know that they might have a stronger mage on their hands than previously thought-" Q started to shake his head in the negative, thinking that this meant _he_ was going to deal with the cops, so James moved to place his hands on either side of the young man's head. He went on as soothingly as possible, "-But then I'm going to call a friend of mine to see if she might know something about what's happening to you. She's not a cop." That last part calmed the hooker down, although he still sat and quivered for a moment, once again nearsightedly searching Bond's face, hands tightly grasping the older man's wrists. 

Finally, Q closed his eyes and nodded. "Okay," he sighed. 

James sighed, too, more relieved than he wanted to admit. So far so good. "My powers actually have a pretty broad radius when I let go of my control on them, so once we're in my flat, you should be able to have the run of the place without having to worry about that spell kicking in again, all right? But on the walk up-"

"Stick close to you?" Q managed a lopsided half-smile. It was a bit manic around the edges, but James appreciated the moxie it took to put that face on at all. So he smiled encouragingly in return and patted Q's cheek with one hand before releasing his gentle hold on the young man’s face entirely. 

"Precisely. Come on - the sooner we get inside, the sooner we can get you into dry clothes, too, and you can put your contacts in and stop blinking at me like a mole."

~^~

They hustled through the chilly night and entered James' flat without incident. Q stuck to him like a burr the whole time, and James couldn't blame the poor little sod - he had a malady that he definitely hadn't planned on, and that no one should have had to deal with on the morning of Christmas eve. 

Then again, considering Q's present profession, James wasn't really sure how this ranked compared to his previous plans for the night. 

Q looked very out of place as he stepped into James' flat, the lights coming on and casting him in a harsh, unforgiving light: all pale skin and bony angles, his hair finally drying into a crows' nest of dark waves atop his head. He was absolutely swimming in James' jacket, but sometimes there was still a flash of fishnet and skin. Clearly aware of what kind of picture he painted, Q shifted back and forth on long legs with painted-on-tight jeans, combat boots squeaking a bit on the linoleum. "I... uh..." Q cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing around the room in what looked like both curiosity and avoidance all in one. "You said that I should be okay further away from you now?" He looked up uncertainly, finally making eye-contact again (or as close to it as he could, since he truly seemed to have abysmal eye-sight). "I'd really like to go get my contacts in, if that's all right."

James took a moment to purposefully let out a slow breath, focusing inwards and imagining cables being undone, something being released. By this point, James had lived in his flat long enough that absolutely nothing magical had survived, but he could nonetheless feel his abilities as a Spelleater spreading out and sweeping through the area like a wave. "Yeah, Q," he said, sure of himself now as he spoke, "The radius of my ability is stretched to its limit now, so you should be able to explore my flat from corner to corner if you wanted to without being forced back into a cat shape. Loo is the door right ahead of you, though."

Toeing off his boots, Q commented, troubled, "Doesn't it tire you to do that?" 

Bond turned to put the kettle on, smiling over his shoulder, "It tires me out more to keep it _in_. Feel free to make use of the shower if you want to - hot water might do you good."

James turned back to making tea (and also considered starting out the day with alcohol, because goodness knows he'd earned it), but was surprised to hear Q speak up again, albeit from the bathroom door this time. "Do you think that I could trouble you for…? Well, as you can see..." Q stumbled, looking down at himself. He'd left James' coat at the door, and his own clothing was clinging to him, wet and inadequate for anyone who knew what the word 'winter' meant. Flushing uncomfortably, Q looked back up and finally just blurted out, "Could I borrow a change of clothes?" 

Although James would never admit it, he'd been unable to stop the once-over he'd given Q. Yup, he definitely looked like a rentboy - but that didn't mean he didn't also look quite good that way. Fixing his gaze back on Q's eyes, James gave an appropriate response for someone who was _not_ one of Q's customers, "Of course. It won't be a good fit, since we're clearly different sizes, but I'll find you something and leave it outside the bathroom door." The last bit was to make it clear that he was not going to intrude on Q's space... because he had a feeling that Q had noticed his appreciative glance. 

Q had the contact-lens solution that they'd bought in hand, and with a quick nod of approval, a brief "Ta," and an actual smile, he retreated into the bathroom. James, after leaning forward against the counter on his arms and breathing deeply, decided that he would take that Scotch, thank you very much - but just one, because the night wasn't over, and he had a feeling that he'd need his wits about him to figure out this whole fiasco.

~^~

Bond's first call was to the police station. Protocol for dealing with arrested magic-users was to keep them in cold-iron until the situation had been thoroughly assessed, but James knew that sometimes even the best cops got a bit lax when there was no reason to believe that their perps were anything but two-bit casters - to say nothing for the fact that it was late on a holiday. Thankfully, no slip-ups had been made by the time James called, at which time he flatly informed them that at least one of the kids they'd brought in had enough juice to be sincerely dangerous. While carefully keeping Q's name out of it (thanking fate that his department was often forgiven for a bit of secrecy, considering all the freaky shit they dealt with), James made it clear that he had reason to believe that one of the kids was capable of performing a high-grade transformation on an unwilling subject. Surprisingly, the cop caught on, immediately cursing and then asking, "The cat?"

"The cat," James replied, but didn't elaborate beyond saying, "I've got that bit handled on my end, but I wanted to let you know that you're not dealing with stupid kids just stretching their magical muscles for the first time." 

"Noted. We're trying to get them to tell us their names right now. I take it you want to know anything we find?" 

"Yes. Call me back on this number." James didn't question the fact that he'd just taken personal responsibility for this rather than delegating it to his department. He just did it. Then again, who else would want to take over this case at this point? With Christmas around the corner, he imagined that even M would probably put the job on the back-burner.

At this point, James was able to hear the shower running. Glad that Q had taken him up on his offer, James did a quick dig through his drawers, coming up with some jogging trousers and an old pullover that would hopefully suffice without bagging too terribly. After dropping them off outside the bathroom door, he returned to the kitchen, where the kettle was whistling. He had no idea what Q liked, but he figured after being doused with water and nearly frozen in the park, anything warm would probably do. While it steeped, James made his second phone-call: to Moneypenny. Out of all the magic-users he knew, she was one of the most trusted, and also one of the few who would perhaps have some insight into what those brats had hit Q with. After all, Eve and her glyphs were one of the few magics even now standing up to James' powers - as evidenced by his gloves. 

Q came into the kitchen, dressed in borrowed clothes and toweling off his hair, just as James hung up. "Good news," James declared, even as he handed Q a mug. Letting the towel drop to his shoulders, Q took it with a look of surprised delight - although, as he sipped, he caught sight of the tumbler still full of Scotch. Q must have put his contact lenses in, because his gaze was decidedly sharper now, and if James wasn't mistaken, he was eyeing the alcohol as if considering a trade. "That friend of mine is going to come over. I've got nothing but guesses at this point as to what kind of magic has been cast on you, but she should be able to nail down an actual answer."

"At this hour?" Q asked incredulously. He took a sip of his drink, apparently deciding that the tea in his hands were worth more than the alcohol _not_ in his hands. He hummed appreciatively, then went on, "It's nearly two o'clock in the morning!"

"She's a very good friend," James stressed, but still had to fight to suppress a chuckle at the memory of just how Eve had sounded when she'd first answered the phone. You had to get up pretty early to get the drop on Eve Moneypenny, but 1:45am was early enough to have her slurring into the phone. "I also gave the police a heads-up, but don't worry, I kept your name out of it." 

"Thank you," Q said, sounding like he really did mean it. At James' gesture, Q preceded him to the sofa. James only revealed that he'd brought with him a second tumbler of Scotch once they'd sat down. Q's eyes rounded out, and even while he shifted his tea to one hand and reached automatically with the other one, he was protesting, "No, really, you didn't have to. I'm already keeping you up and borrowing your clothes and using your shower-"

"Don't mention it, Q," James interrupted firmly. He pressed the glass into Q's long-fingered hand, then gave the knuckles a gentle pat. He also very professionally refrained from visually appreciating just how nice Q looked dressed down as well as dressed up - even in baggy clothes, he had a sort of artless grace about him. But while Q might have missed James' reflexive ogling before, thanks to his nearsightedness, he'd most definitely notice now that he had his contact-lenses in. James made a greater effort to behave, something he rarely had to do within the confines of his own flat. "You've had a shit day, and I'm an insomniac anyway."

"So am I," Q chuckled with a shy little smile, then poured a liberal amount of Scotch right into his tea. It was not a combo that James would have recommended, but he simply watched as Q then took one small sip to test the hotness - found it less than scalding - and then took a gulp of alcoholic tea. He immediately coughed and grimaced. 

"That good, eh?" James teased dryly. 

"Not tasty," Q admitted, "but I wasn't sure what I needed more: warmth or inebriation. I decided I was too impatient to choose." 

"Next time, warn me, and I'll give you two drinks that have more compatible flavor profiles," James said, even as Q kept drinking, but more slowly, the taste perhaps growing on him. With the sleeves of his borrowed sweater falling over his hands, he looked childlike and a little bit ridiculous... but at least he wasn't a cat at the moment. Small miracles.

The two of them ended up engaging in small talk - stilted at first, verbally feeling each other out, unsure what questions were out of bounds and what was allowed. Q was clearly curious about James' abilities, whereas James was interested in how in the world Q had come to be a prostitute and a runaway. Ultimately, James ended up _not_ getting nosy - it was clear pretty quickly that Q didn't want to talk about himself - but they ended up both talking about hobbies instead. James had a love of cars and guns whether he was on or off-duty, and Q opened up quickly to show a mechanical knowledge of both. It was frankly stunning, and even if Bond wasn't immediately impressed by Q's acuity, he was simply glad to see the young man loosen up a bit. Being forcibly transformed multiple times was no picnic, and Q had been showing the strain both physically and psychologically, but as he started talking about engines and new advances in laser sights, he grew alive and animated, as if he'd never been attacked. 

Seeing how lively and engaged Q was now, James had a very real urge to drive down to the police station and follow through on his threat to break bones and put bullet-holes in those brats’ kneecaps. Because clearly, to them, Q had just been something disposable, a vessel to put magic into. They'd never bothered to see this thinking, feeling, living being that was Q, who was more than just a prostitute who sold himself to make a living. 

A knock sounded at the door, startling Q more than Bond, since Q had been in the middle of what sounded like a college-level lecture on handprint identification. "That'll be my friend Eve," James said, even as he noted Q's return to nervousness. He smile faded away to a shuttered, wary look - not unfriendly by any stretch, but more closed off. James felt abruptly proud of himself for getting Q to relax and open up, and hoped that he could repeat the process later, perhaps after Eve had shed some light on the problem. A peek through the peephole showed that it was indeed Moneypenny, somehow managing to look stunning despite the late hour. 

"I'll have you know that I don't usually do house-calls - at any hour," she muttered as she was let in. The woman pressed a finger to Bond's chest, leaning in to say in mock warning, "So I hope you realize how special you are, you crazy bastard."

James just grinned. "Oh, I'm perfectly aware." Gesturing her inside (and showing that he had manners, by taking her coat), James raised his voice to introduce, "Q, meet Eve Moneypenny - Eve, meet Q. He's the fellow I told you about."

Q stood, but held his hands close to him, as if uncertain whether she'd want to shake his hand. Unlike with the police, James had told Eve everything about Q - and while James hadn't actually told Q that, the young man seemed to sense that his profession was no secret. He was quite astute despite his apparent youth, James was realizing. Fortunately, despite how she'd growled at James, Moneypenny was quick to soften, and approached Q with hand already outstretched. Their handshake was a little awkward, but James could see that Eve make a point of squeezing Q's hand comfortingly. "It sounds like you've had a very rough night, love," she observed sympathetically. 

Dropping his eyes, Q dragged in a ragged breath but replied shyly on the exhale, "It's... not been the best, no." Everyone took that as a sign to sit down, James back down on the sofa to Q's left, Eve on the coffee-table so that she was sitting right in front of them both, ready to get to work. 

"So, explain to me again what the problem is?" the woman asked, glancing between the two of them with eyebrows raised. 

When Q just gave James an exhausted, helpless look, Bond decided to take up the narrative. "So far as we know, some upstart mage brats got ahold of Q here and decided to put some sort of transformation spell on him. The problem is, it's not just the usual once-and-done spell - if Q's not in range of my Spelleater abilities, he's suddenly furry, whiskered, and about the size of a loaf of bread." Q shot him a little look at the description, but didn't dispute it. James met Eve's thoughtful gaze and shrugged helplessly. "All I know for sure is that it's a strong enough spell that it keeps turning back on as soon as I stop nullifying it, and that it's sophisticated enough that it only changes the body - Q's mind stays intact throughout." He gave Q's temple a small tap; Q twitched and batted his hand away. 

Eve looked pensive. "This doesn't sound like the work of novices, or like a spur-of-the-moment sort of spell."

"No, it does not," James agreed grimly. 

"In fact, it doesn't sound like a spell at all. I'd put it more on a level of a curse or maybe even a geas," Eve continued to think out loud, and James let her go. This was her area of expertise far more than his; he just broke magic. He didn't create or manipulate it. In fact, he’d just barely passed most of his magical classes in Uni. "To be this stubborn, it has to be something of that level.”

"Your glyphs have that kind of permanency," James pointed out neutrally. A lot of magic was purely ethereal - spoken words, blasts of power, etc. Glyphists like Eve, however, were essentially the scriveners of the magical world, their magic based on written symbols that often had a durability to them. So long as the inscribed glyph itself remained, the power would, too. If most magics were like candles, prone to be snuffed out by, say, a Spelleater, glyphs were like those trick-candles used at birthday parties, that could relight themselves so long as the candle itself remained intact. 

By the way Eve met James' eyes, she was thinking the exact same thing. "They do indeed," she murmured, then turned back to Q. "Sweetheart, have you noticed any marks on you since what happened in the park? Since you're wearing borrowed clothes, I'm going to guess you've had a chance to see yourself in the mirror."

Q blinked, unprepared for the question, but he did take a few quick seconds to ponder it. "I didn't see anything," he stated, giving his head a little shake. 

Eve's expression grew a bit pinched, and her voice turned a few octaves more soothing - which warned Bond ahead of time that she was about to ask for something uncomfortable. "It might have been very small, easy to dismiss as a smudge of dirt or even a bruise if you weren't looking for it. Do you mind if I check you over?" Before any rebuttal could be mounted, she spread her hands placatingly, further explaining, "Glyphs are the easiest way to imprint someone with durable, powerful, and precise magic - exactly the kind of thing that could explain why this is happening to you, and why James' abilities haven't been able to destroy it entirely. I'm a Glyphist myself, so I know what to look for."

Since Q was looking _more_ anxious rather than less, James gave Q's foot a gentle nudge with his, then said candidly when hazel eyes snapped to him, "This is our only lead right now, Q. Unless you want to go to a professional - which will probably include going to the police - letting Eve look at you is the best option. If she finds something, that'll actually be a stroke of _good_ luck, because then she'll also be able to read what the glyph says, which will help us to unravel it."

"You won't find someone more fluent in glyph-reading in all of Britain," Eve boasted playfully, and while Q didn't return her smile, he did relax just a bit. After just a beat more, he gave in with a resigned sigh, standing. 

"All right then, it's not like I don't take my clothes off for people all the time anyway," he grumped. He snatched the briefest of looks Bond's way, and there was just enough twinkle in his eye to inform James that this was a feeble attempt at humor. 

James did his best to meet it. "That's the spirit," he said back, and smiled as Q scoffed at him. At the same time, Q gripped the hem of his borrowed pullover and yanked it off over his head. 

~^~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay the next chapter has nudity in it! \\(^u^)/ Not under the sexiest circumstances, but it counts, yeah? As always, if you have any questions about the AU or the magic system that I've built here, feel free to ask :) A lot more goes on in my head than ever hits the page, when it comes to magical world-building.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q, James, and Eve learn more about Q's situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of random magical jargon in this one - feel free to ask questions in the comments if you want to chat about the AU! Or if you just have any lingering questions that Eve, Q, and James' chat doesn't clear up :) Because goodness knows that even James doesn't follow the entire thing...

What followed was less awkward than expected, although not entirely without discomfort. Q did indeed have practice at revealing his body, and James was sure that if Q had not already been so frazzled and scared, he could have proudly paraded around naked. As it was, the young man vacillated between being careless about his nudity, and for brief moments, visibly embarrassed. It was hard to tell when he'd switch between the moods, and clearly Q didn't know when he would either, and that seemed to distress him - especially when Eve could find no sign of a glyph on Q's torso, which necessitated the removal of the rest of his clothes. James felt bad, watching this poor kid having to strip down, all because someone had done something atrocious to him and had left no easy instructions on how to fix it. 

"Dammit," Eve said, visibly frustrated at their lack of progress. Q was presently sitting naked on James' couch (fortunately he was having a moment of not caring, simply looking tired as he draped his arms over his knees and watched Eve pace), and James was sitting (clothed, obviously) on his end of the couch, his own frustration boiling away quietly beneath the surface. He tried his best not to stare at the lithesome body on display next to him, knowing that this was not the time. 

Eve was still stalking back and forth in front of the coffee table. "This has got to be a glyph-based curse, I'm sure of it!" she maintained. 

"You can get a curse to stick without a glyph," James reminded. He'd had a bit of experience with such things. "That's rather the point of curses. They take hold of a body like a cancer and just keep coming back instead of letting go." Q let out a little distressed whine to his right, and James felt his heart constrict. He reached over without thinking and squeezed one bare shoulder; Q leaned into it a little.

"Yes, but regular curses don't have the finesse necessary to protect someone's mind while transforming the body," Eve shot back, undeterred. James didn't argue; she had a point. Generally speaking, curses were categorized by three things: malignancy, pure power, and durability. They were the slime mold of the magical world. They were not, however, known for being very fine-tuned. 

"A geas then?" he asked next, trying for another option that would explain the lack of a glyph written on Q's body. "They're much more specified, but still designed to be long-lasting, explaining why this didn't just snuff out the first time I let loose on it."

"Aren't geas usually about prohibiting something, though?" Q proved that he had a voice, as well as a functioning knowledge of magic, even if he wasn't a magic-user himself. 

James nodded, but then lifted and dropped one shoulder, noting, "Well, this magic seems to be prohibiting you from being human, so that technically fits the criteria for a geas." 

Eve was shaking her head, though. "I still think that it's a glyph-anchored curse. A glyph could regulate its power, and turn a magical bull in a china shop into an incredibly keen scalpel." 

"Then why aren't we seeing a mark?" James asked logically and, he had to admit, a bit tiredly. The sun hadn't even risen yet, and he was on the verge of suggesting they all just sleep on this and figure it out when morning had properly arrived - after all, even though Q had a malignant spell lodged in him somewhere, it couldn't actually _do_ anything so long as he was in range of Bond's Spelleater abilities. 

Suddenly, Eve stopped pacing. Q looked over and locked eyes with Bond, both of them a bit nervous now, sensing the change in the woman's body language, although neither said anything. Eve was tapping the fingers of one hand against her lips, and murmured against her own skin, quietly, "It's possible to encode a glyph so that it also hides itself..."

Suddenly Eve turned back to both Q and James, so suddenly that both men jumped in place. She looked a little manic. Then again, considering the insane hour of the morning, perhaps it was warranted. "One of a glyph's most unique skills is its ability to remain inactive without falling apart like a regular work of magic would," she started babbling, "That's why they can stand up to a Spelleater like you, James. But what if we can't see it because it's not active?" 

This was moving beyond James' realm of even theoretical magical knowledge. He just stared at Moneypenny for a long moment. "You lost me."

"I don't think you lost me," Q piped up, hesitant but with a determined glint in his eyes. It was hard to look serious when one was stark naked on a stranger's couch, but Q was managing it, cupping his chin in one hand and beetling his brows a little as he hazarded, "So you think that right now, the same reason you can't see this glyph is for the same reason that the spell itself is invisible? James is nullifying the magic for the whole thing?"

Eve's grin was a little bit scary in its triumphant-ness. "Exactly! The magic is basically so deeply depleted that the glyph controlling it isn’t even surfacing."

James was slowly catching on, and he wasn't sure he liked where this was heading. "So..."

"So, James dear, I want you to kindly step outside," Eve finished his sentence for him. It was only a beat later that she realized this wasn't just a theoretical discussion, and that the reason James wasn't moving to obey her was because they were dealing with a living, breathing person here: Q. Q, who would be forced into the body of a cat the instant he was out of range of James' natural magic-dampening abilities. Eve's face fell, looking suddenly a bit distraught. "Q, sweetie..." She lacked anything else to say, although the apology in her tone was clear. 

Q looked away from both of them, clearly distressed, but when he looked back again, it was to agree, "No, you're... you're right. That's the best plan we have so far, and, I mean..." He shrugged, but his attempt at being carefree fell pretty flat, his smile brief and wan. "...It's not like it hurts, except for the headache afterwards."

"So you'll do this?" Eve asked, more thoughtfully this time. Q nodded. 

James looked between them both for a moment, watching Q in particular for any signs of him changing his mind - because if Q didn't want the spell to re-awaken, then James would stay glued to his side. Q met his eyes briefly, but only to flash another attempt at a reassuring smile, nodding. With a sigh, James gave in and stood. To Eve as he walked past her, towards the door, he said, "I'm only leaving for a moment and then I'm coming right back. Make sure he doesn't lose his balance and tip over when he changes back." 

Unable to look back because he knew just how small and vulnerable Q would look, sitting there alone now on Bond's sofa, the blond-haired man stalked out, not even grabbing his coat against the late-night winter chill. He'd be back before he even felt it.

~^~

James knew that he could have just put his gloves back on right then and there, instead of walking outside, but at some point he'd realized that he'd reached his limit. This day... night... had stretched too damn long, and it had brought with it an emotional load that had culminated in the form of two hazel eyes and an unfortunate rentboy named Q. James was not usually a man over-burdened with emotions, but right now... he needed a second to get his feelings in order. So he stepped out of his flat, closed the door, and just put his face in his hands for a few moments. Through the door, he could hear Eve quietly reassuring Q, could hear Q's replies said in a stubbornly steady voice. Fuck, if Q was a prostitute, his life was already hard enough - he didn't _need_ this on top of everything. 

Nonetheless, while still standing out in the hallway, James pulled out his gloves, which he'd grabbed in passing. He slipped them on with a silent apology, and almost instantly heard Q's little gasp of surprise - followed by Eve's. Other than that, it was pretty quiet. Transformations were shocking to watch and to experience, but on the other side of a closed door, James felt detached. 

Physically, at least. 

Mentally, he felt as bad as if he'd been sitting right there, abandoning Q to this malicious spell that took his very body away from him. 

The silver lining was quick to show itself, fortunately, as James suddenly heard Eve legitimately whooping from inside the room: "Yes! Yes, I saw it! Thought you were so sneaky, you bitchy little glyph-!" 

James was pulling his gloves back off and barging back into his own flat before anything more was even said. Once again he felt his powers bash up against the spell, biting into it like the teeth of a wave tearing across a beach. With a smell like turpentine, it gave way, James' powers devouring all of the magical fuel in the room and leaving a human Q once again unfolding from a cat's body. The younger man gasped, no doubt given whiplash by the back-to-back transformations, but James was across the room and by his side before Eve even needed to worry about it. James caught Q's shoulders, and the young man responded by clinging to his waist like he was afraid of falling right out of his body again. Q's torso convulsed a few times as if he was about to vomit, but all he ended up doing was panting out a heartfelt, "_Fuck_," before subsiding into simple shaking. 

James let the young man cling to his shirt and belt-loops, distractedly stroking the taut lines of his bare back. "Eve?" James asked, needing to hear what had happened.

If she'd looked a little bit wild around the eyes before, that was nothing compared to Eve's appearance now - although at least she looked borderline crazy in a positive way. She grinned victoriously, actually pumping a fist in the air. "I saw it! The second he started changing, the glyph showed - I was right, it's encoded with instructions to hide itself, but I think I can..." Eve trailed off, darting back to her purse, where she dug around for something. 

James, meanwhile, bent over the pathetic form leaned against him. "You all right, Q?" he asked softly, right hand moving from Q's back to squeeze his shoulder, other hand lifting to briefly cup the back of his tousled head. "Where was the glyph, did you manage to see it, too?"

Since the first question didn't really need an answer - of course Q wasn't all right, and hadn't been since he'd been attacked - James didn't mind when Q just shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut against obvious vertigo, and only answered the latter questions, "I... It was like seeing sunlight suddenly burning through my chest, just for a second before I..."

"Before you became a cat again?"

Q gave a weak nod, looking very stressed and a bit green. 

"Good, then that means there's no reason you can't put some trousers back on," James said encouragingly, deciding to make himself useful while Eve did... whatever it is she seemed determined to do next. If he didn't trust the woman so much after years of working with her, he'd have been worried, but whatever she was up to, he knew that it would be to help Q. Q was so out of it that getting him back into clothes was a bit like dressing either a sleep-walker or a drunk person, and he whined piteously whenever he was forced to move. James hushed him softly out of reflex, and counted it as a win when Q didn't vomit - although it was a near-thing. Now only naked from the waist up, having dry-heaved a few times, Q was sitting on the edge of the couch with his head down between his knees when James draped a blanket over his shoulders and then sat down again. 

Eve returned to them then, an eyeliner held triumphantly in hand. James had reached the point where he didn't have the energy to ask questions anymore, and only raised an eyebrow as she approached.

"Bond, help him sit up, I'm going to do some on-the-fly editing to this glyph and see if we can't at least get it to become visible," Eve commanded, coming around to sit on the coffee-table by Q's knees again. Q looked so done-in that it was debatable whether he was even listening anymore. Maybe that was why James shifted to sit next to him and took hold of his shoulders so gently, saying gentle apologies as he coaxed him up into a more upright sitting position. With a groan, the young prostitute allowed himself to be maneuvered, although he ended up slouched into James' side like a limp noodle. 

As she lifted her eyeliner pen with obvious intentions to draw on Q's chest with it, Eve suddenly looked up at James, eyes losing their wildness for a look of concern. She briefly looked ready to apologize as well as she said, "I'm afraid this isn't going to work with you at full power, James. Is there any chance you could tone it down a bit?"

"I'm assuming you don't want the magic in Q to activate again," James hazarded. His tone, of course, said that she had better fucking not want that, because he wasn't going to make the kid change bodies three times in under ten minutes. 

Fortunately, Moneypenny nodded, confirming, "I can't do much with him as a cat, what with all the fur in the way, but I think if you can tamp down on that magic-hungry aura of yours, I'll be able to imbue just enough magic into a glyph to make some progress here."

Unsure but game to try, James didn't say anything, but briefly closed his eyes. Turning his focus inwards, he once again imagined chains and cables, and this time began to laborious process of locking down the magic that otherwise ran wild within him. All the while, he could feel Q panting quietly against his side, hair tickling his chin as Q's head lolled against his shoulder tiredly. If this could help Q, then James could do it. As he sensed the radius of his aura retreating beneath his own skin, just on the verge of sinking fully within his own body - at which point Q would probably transform - James grated out, "Good enough?" It wasn't easy to hold his powers in like this; that was why James had commissioned his gloves. Control was not something he really had. Holding his abilities halfway between fully on and fully off was an even greater challenge, like holding oneself halfway through a pushup.

"Yes. Yes, this is perfect, just give me a second..." Eve said, and while James still had his eyes closed, he heard her clothes rustling as she moved, and Q fidgeted and lifted his head a little. "Done!" the Glyphist said just moments later, however, and James opened one eye and looked over just in time to see a little pattern about as wide in diameter as a small plum, intricately inked in black eyeliner in the center of Q's chest. It flared weakly but stubbornly with magic - having to fight the black-hole pull of James' subdued power - and then suddenly the whole front of Q's chest was starting to crackle and glow. An area the size of a dinner plate suddenly came into focus, at first glowing with magical light and then solidifying into black as it fused with Eve's glyph. In seconds, at least part of Q's problem was perfectly visible.

"You rewrote it like code," Q mumbled, proving that he wasn't totally out of it. 

"I never thought of that way, but yes, I guess I did," Eve replied, looking pleased, "You could say I introduced a small revision into its programming. James, you can let your control go again - it should stay visible, now that I've gotten my glyph on speaking terms with this big beastie." Her fingertip reached forward to stroke one of the lines that stretched down Q's breastbone. "I just needed enough magic to fuse the two." 

Lacking knowledge of glyphs, James just accepted that logic without a word, and with a sigh, allowed his magic to slip its choke-chain. It rushed out into the room like a tidal wave, and both Eve and Q actually gasped as they felt it. "Sorry," James mumbled. 

Both Eve and Q were quickly becoming absorbed in the glyph on Q's chest, however. It looked to James like most any other magical circle that he'd seen, reminding him that many magic-users implemented symbolism like Glyphists did - they just didn't specialize in it like Moneypenny did. Right now, she was staring at the layers and layers of lines and circles with a deepening frown on her face. Apparently she'd managed to 'rewrite its code' enough to see it, but by Eve's expression, it looked like they still had a ways to go before they'd fully fix Q's problem. 

"So, were we right?" Q prompted. His voice was admirably steady, but James could feel him shaking. It was hard enough to know that you'd been kidnapped and magically tampered with - but seeing proof of it literally in the flesh was another thing entirely. "Is it...? Does this mark connect to, you know, a curse?"

"I..." Eve hesitated. That more than anything sharpened James' attention, and he pushed back his tiredness to stare at her keenly. A sense of foreboding rose up in him like cold fingers up his spine. He could tell that Eve had edited her initial response when she said a beat later, "Yes, this glyph is definitely being used to focus and pilot a greater working of magic."

"I notice," James said, slow and low, "that you didn't say 'curse'."

"I'm not sure that it is," the woman answered. That should have been a good thing, but by her tone... she wasn't sure. 

For a long while, Eve didn't say anything more, instead studying the glyph more closely than James had seen her study anything before. Usually, Eve read glyphs like normal people read a book in their native tongue - but now, it looked like she was translating a dead language, mouth sometimes moving as if she was literally sounding out vowels and consonants. 

James could feel Q getting nervous, struggling to stay quiet and let the Glyphist work, and when he couldn't contain himself and started squirming, James tightened his arm around Q's shoulders and impulsively pulled him close against his side, pressing his mouth to the younger man's temple to murmur, "Easy, Q, easy. It'll be all right. Whatever it is, it's dormant so long as you're with me, just remember that."

After a time, Eve sat back, sighing and burying her fingers in the thick mane of her hair. "I'm going to have to do some research on this. I can read most all of the symbols, but there's some crazy syntax going on here, and I'm going to have to consult some textbooks for this one," she admitted. She flashed a weak smile and patted Q's knee, "Don't worry, Q, we'll figure it out. If it weren't so late, maybe I'd be able to parse it out faster, but I'm fried."

"It's okay," Q murmured, but didn't sound like he meant it. None of this was okay, really, but the dark-haired young man still somehow had enough manners and professionalism not to start screaming at them to just fucking fix him already. "We're all pretty done in, I think." 

"True enough," was James' contribution to the situation. He tried to catch Eve's eye, but she wouldn't meet his, which set off quiet alarm bells in James' head. He stood, reaching a hand down for Q. "I've got a guest bedroom, and I insist you stay the night," he said as chivalrously as possible, considering that most of the night had been wasted already on magical mayhem and stress. But if Eve was putting on a brave face for Q, then James could afford to lighten the mood, too. 

It worked, insofar as Q managed a choked sort of laugh. He took James' hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. After that, he stood on his own, having regained most of his equilibrium at long last. He replied jokingly enough, "How could I resist an offer like that?" Once standing, he looked down at his chest, and it was clear just how much the mark on his skin horrified him. His crooked little half-smile disintegrated to be replaced by a blank, pale look, and probably the only reason he wasn't trying to rub his own skin off was because everyone knew at least a few things about glyphs: once infused with magic, only magic could remove them. They were virtually tattoos. 

Some could not be removed at all. 

If anyone could break the hold of an un-removable glyph, however, it would be Eve and James - a Glyphist and a Spelleater.

Q moved to tug his borrowed pullover back on, but Eve stopped him. "Let me take a photo of that first, love," Eve requested, once again darting over to her purse, this time finding what she wanted much more quickly in the form of her mobile. Q obliged to remain topless for a bit longer, although he kneaded and twisted the pullover in his hands until James reached over and gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. Q startled, and when he looked over at James on reflex, there was such naked, helpless fear in his eyes that James felt his usually cold, hard heart crack. 

It was a relief, therefore, when Eve got a picture to reference and Q didn't need to have the giant mark on display anymore, the pullover quickly tugged into place to hide it from sight. The fact that it was rather beautiful - all intricate lines, coiling and curing into something that was at once organic and poetically symmetrical - was immaterial. Q hadn't asked for it and didn't want it, and that made it ugly in Bond's books. Just as soon as he got Q settled in, he was going to call the police station again, and see if it was possible to ask them to maybe shoot their suspects... just a little bit. Nothing life-threatening. No one really needed their kneecaps to live, right? Just a little bit of bullet-related encouragement to get them to talk…

"It's funny," Q was saying, as they both walked towards the guest-bedroom. Q's voice indicated that it wasn’t all that funny, truly. "Of all the unfortunate things that I thought would happen to me when I became a prostitute, this was not even on the list. Usually you just hear about hookers overdosing in back-alleys." He laughed at his own morbid commentary, but the sounds was precariously close to sobbing. 

"That's because this is something that shouldn't have happened to anyone," James growled. HIs arm somehow found its way around Q's shoulders again. He felt the need to add, fiercely, "And you won't be overdosing in a back-alley either."

"I should hope not," Q snorted, and perhaps now some of the wry humor was real, "It's been hard enough avoiding that particular vice, amongst all the other things in my life that have gone to shit."

In the bedroom now (which smelled as fresh as the rest of the house only because Alec and sometimes even Eve stayed over from time to time, usually when hard days at work and/or too much alcohol were involved), James paused, finally turning to Q and noting, "You never did tell me anything about how you ended up a runaway, on the street like you are."

Q sighed and his face - no, his entire posture - seemed to fall. "No, I didn't," he said, and then sighed again, looking monumentally tired. "And I... you been so helpful to me, and I owe you, but right now I just can't...!"

"It's all right, Q." James pulled the younger man in for a hug without thinking, and the slim body went to him easily, folding against his chest. "You don't have to tell me anything. Not until this is all sorted out at least." He thought he felt a few tears smear against the side of his neck where Q tucked his face there, but he didn't comment. Instead, he just rubbed Q's back in gentle strokes, and waited for Q to release the death-grip he presently had on James' ribs.

Tucking Q into bed was like wrapping up a small animal, and James had never before felt such a need to handle something without breaking it. After taking a quick moment to get his contact-lenses out, Q was honestly asleep before he even got under the covers, so it was up to Bond to awkwardly but carefully mold the blankets and pillows around him. Only when James stepped back did he realize that he'd made an honest-to-god _nest_, and if this wasn't the Christmas spirit, he didn't know what had gotten into him. 

When James exited the bedroom, Eve was waiting for him. "Not as much research required as you thought, hmm?" he guessed, not surprised. He'd known Eve long enough to be able to read her body language quite easily, and he'd seen that she'd just wanted to talk to him alone... which meant this was going to be bad. "Just say it. What kind of curse are we dealing with?"

"I truly don't think it's a curse," Eve surprised him by maintaining, although her arms were folded tightly under her breasts and her posture betrayed a deep unease. "At least, not in the typical sense of the word. Typically, curses are designed to hurt or even kill their victim."

"I'm pretty sure that this is hurting the hell out of Q."

"I know! I _know_, but I don't think the main purpose of that glyph - and the mass of magic behind it - is to make the bearer miserable. I think that actually-!"

Bond's phone rang. Normally, James would have ignored it, but Eve had stopped talking and James remembered that not only was he still 'on call,' but the police station had agreed to call him if there were any developments. Sure enough, it was their number on the collar ID, so James was quick to answer. "Hello?"

It was the same officer as before, and at least no further mayhem had occurred - in fact, the call was a good one... relatively speaking. Q's attackers were still in custody, and their identities had finally been found out. The problem was, James recognized some of the surnames. When he hung up, he informed an expectant Eve, "Well, it turns out that Q became the magical plaything of some big-name brats. Apparently the ringleader is from the House of Blofeld, and both of his cronies have gone to your old Alma Mater - which explains their specializing in glyphs." 

Eve's eyes went cold. "That's funny, because you know what I know about the Blofeld family?"

"What?"

"Mr. Blofeld senior is presently under investigation for major misuse of magic. His family believes that certain creatures make more powerful Familiars than others - and do you want to know what kind of creature he says has the most potential to be a powerful Familiar, if only we had the magic to properly bind them?" Eve paused, and even before she spoke, James felt as if the ground had fallen out from beneath his feet. "Human."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh the plot thickens ;) And Bond might be getting feels. Just little ones. Feels that lead to hugs...and nest-building. Feels that encourage him to kneecap bad people.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts with some world-building - ends with some cozy naps <3 Oh! And M gets thrown into the mix a bit, for added flavor ;)

Familiars had gone out of fashion in recent years, mostly because the increasingly modern world was not particularly animal-friendly - even if you had a fairly normal Familiar, it was pretty dangerous to send them out into the world. Gone were the days when your Familiar could go and be your eyes... without getting hit by a car or picked up by Animal Control. Thankfully, there were laws protecting animals registered as Familiars, but most magic-users chose to function nowadays without an animal bound to them. It was one less mouth to feed and body to take care of, and animal activists were also pretty vocal against the use of Familiars anyway.

Bond wondered what they'd have to say about _this_ situation. 

"What are you saying, Eve?" James asked in a low, too-steady voice - an inadvertently dangerous tone as his mind began to instinctively make connections. 

“I’m saying,” Moneypenny said steadily, “that when you interrupted those kids and rescued Q, you interrupted a spell that Ernst Blofeld has been threatening to perfect.”

“And that his son clearly knew more about than anyone realized,” James concluded the thought. 

Eve nodded. “I’ll have to research more, because I’m not exactly up-to-date on my illegal human-to-Familiar-transmogrify-” She rolled her eyes, but her tone was growing exasperated and razor-edged; she was as furious as Bond, just barely holding it in. “-But I think that that glyph on Q’s chest is made to create a Familiar out of him. The closer a creature is to sentient, the harder it is to bind them to a magic-user as a Familiar - but at the same time, the more sentient a creature is, the more powerful a Familiar they make.”

James was thinking furiously, his mind following paths to destinations that he didn’t want to reach. He knew even less about this than Moneypenny did, having not kept up-to-date on the various scandals of old families like the Blofelds, but if a fully-human-Q couldn’t be made into an obedient Familiar - what about a Q who couldn’t leave a cat’s body? It certainly made him more vulnerable, and more Familiar-_esque_, all in one shot.

Eve was still talking, looking frustrated and angry but also tired as she shook her head, “If nothing else, I can safely say that that some segments of that glyph are nowhere in the Arc-arcana.” James took a second to recognize the name of the Glyphist dictionary. All glyphs were registered there, so if the mark on Q’s chest deviated from that alphabet, then someone was basically remaking the language to suit their needs. James had a feeling that that was not only very rare, but very unsafe. He suddenly wanted to go back into the guest-bedroom, afraid for Q's safety in all new ways. 

“Fuck,” James summed up the situation, “So the son of a mad magician teamed up with some Glyphist prodigies, and then decided to test out a few of Daddy's theories on the first person they could get their hands on?”

Eve nodded sadly. “It certainly looks that way. Prostitutes like Q go missing all the time and rarely go to the police, so regardless of whether this was a success or not, they probably figured they could get away with it.”

“Well, I’d like to see them try to get away with it now,” James growled lowly, with all the dangerous intent of an avalanche behind his words. He didn’t care that tomorrow was Christmas - he was fully prepared to bring hell down on anyone connected with this scheme. 

“I’m thinking of calling M about this,” Eve was saying, giving her eyes a rub as if to push a bit more wakefulness into them, “She’ll be up in a couple more hours, and I don’t doubt that she’ll know more about the Blofeld case than I do. That, and I know she keeps a Familiar.”

Oh, James was well aware that their boss M kept a Familiar. The bulldog didn’t much like him. He still wondered how the creature could really be any help to M, since it never seemed to do anything, but he’d heard that Familiars, just by their mere presence, could increase the magical capabilities of their bonded human. Now, though, James couldn’t even think the world ‘Familiar’ without imagining Q, trapped in the body of a sentient cat, being bound to the will of another just so that he could act as a living magical amplifier. It made Bond shudder, sickened and angered to his core. 

Just as he opened his mouth to agree with Eve’s plan, however, he heard a thin cry of alarm followed by the sounds of thrashing in the guest bedroom behind him. Immediately, James was on high alert, spinning around and bursting into the room where he’d left Q. 

James was grateful that he’d pulled out a few extra pillows to pile around Q, because without the pillows bracketing him, it looked like Q would have already flailed himself right onto the floor - as it was, he was fighting the blankets, making strangled noises of panic as he also did his best to hyperventilate. James knew what waking up from a nightmare looked like, and moved forward quickly to try and at least keep Q from hurting himself. “Hey, hey, easy!” he spoke calmly, knowing that raising his voice was of no use, and would only make matters worse. Getting a knee up onto the bed, James tried to untangle Q and bring him gently under control. “It’s all right, Q, no one’s attacking you,” he kept soothing, only blinking a few times as Eve flicked the switch and flooded the guest bedroom with light. Q jerked, finally free from the waist up, and squinted at the sudden brightness. A hand that James had been sure was going to lash out in a punch instead reached forward and fisted in James’ shirt; Q’s other hand came up to grasp the wrist of the hand James had reached out towards him. Testing his luck, James continued to reach forward, and even though Q maintained a white-knuckled grip on Bond’s arm, he allowed himself to be touched when James’ broad hand settled on his shoulder. 

“You’re in my flat, Q, and you’re safe,” James continued to soothe. Q was still breathing too fast, eyes looking around wildly even as they struggled to adjust to the influx of light. The white's of Q's eyes showed like a threatened animal's, and James could see the way sweat was making his hair and clothing cling to him; there was an actual smell of fear about him. 

James turned to look over his shoulder at Moneypenny, watching quietly from the doorway still. “Eve, could you go into my room and dig up another shirt for him?” He didn’t need to explain that Q had sweated through this one, and was already growing chilled. 

“I’ll put on the kettle again for tea while I’m at it,” she offered softly with a nod and disappeared.

By the time James turned his attention back to Q, the young man was at least marginally more aware of his surroundings, blinking in a flustered sort of way as he whipped his head about to take in the room. “What…?” he panted, hands clenching spasmodically against Bond’s shirt and wrist. 

“You woke up in a panic,” James explained simply. When Q looked back at him, still more than a little wild around the eyes, James murmured, “After the day you’ve had, it’s not surprising.”

“I dreamt…” The words stumbled out of Q’s mouth seemingly of their own volition, with the kind of guileless truthfulness that came with being not entirely awake, “...I dreamt that you got too far away, and- and- and the spell kicked in, and I couldn’t do anything-!” 

As Q had spoke, his words had grown more and more rushed, and he’d let go of Bond to start pulling at his own shirt - no doubt digging towards the malevolent glyph beneath. Before Q could reach the glyph and start tearing at his own skin, James did the only thing he could think of short of grabbing Q's arms and struggling with him: he pulled Q up against him, into a tight hug. Q's little sob was emitted against Bond’s chest, even as his movements were benevolently restricted. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Q.” God, but Q was slender - not emaciated, but thin enough that James could feel his ribs right now, and had the sudden, grandmotherly urge to get some food into him to fatten him up. As James rubbed up and down Q’s knobby spine, he could also feel how cold he was getting now that he was out from under the blankets, being absolutely soaked in sweat. “I’m here, and you’re human, and we’re going to get you through this, okay?” Q whined but nodded against him. 

It took a bit, and Eve had returned silently to the entranceway before Q calmed down enough to fully come to his senses. He sniffled against Bond’s shirt-front and then made half-hearted attempts to push away from him, muttering self-deprecatingly, “Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart like that. I don’t make a habit of waking up in hysterics…”

“Well, I’m sure you don’t make a habit of any of this,” Eve spoke up, drawing Q’s eyes to her over James’ shoulder. Minus corrective lenses, the young man had to squint a bit. “Especially since you didn’t exactly sign up for it.”

Q managed a weak, watery laugh. His eyes were red, and James didn’t have to look down to know that he had wet tear-spots on the front of his shirt. “Well, in my profession, we expect a certain amount of trouble,” he admitted, and Bond’s heart clenched uncomfortably at the reminder that most hookers were treated as sub-human - and even Q seemed to accept that, “But you’re right, this wasn’t exactly on my Christmas wishlist.” 

Abruptly realizing how close they were, James pulled back until he was just sitting on the edge of the bed. This allowed Eve to walk forward with a replacement shirt - this one short-sleeved and grey, a favorite of Bond’s because it was soft - and Q reached to pull his present one off. The movement started out unabashed, the easy stripping motion of someone used to nudity, but once Q got the pullover off and everyone could see the expanse of inky glyph… Q winced, body going taut and eyes briefly closing. 

Bond, purely on impulse, took a deep breath and let it out throw his nose, purposefully expanding his power like a great ripple in a pond. Both Eve and Q twitched, physically feeling the anti-magic aura flexing. While Eve responded by glancing sharply at Bond, Q just looked at him askance… and then gifted James with the smallest smile of gratitude. He took the proffered shirt with a professionally polite little “Thank you” and quickly slipped it on. Once the glyph was hidden, Q regained some of his composure, although cracks were still visible - such as when he lifted a hand to rub at his breastbone as if it ached. 

Eve sat down on the bed, too. James was by Q’s side, and the Glyphist was now at the younger man’s feet, her tired eyes earnest. “Hey, Q, I think we might have learned something,” she started explaining. James tensed a little, unsure if now was the time to reveal all of this - sure, he and Eve had had some time to talk through the situation, but a lot was still just supposition, and Q had awoken from a night-terror only a few minutes ago. Eve went on before James could open his mouth to slow her down, however, so he bit his tongue with a tense little sigh. Q had to hear all of this eventually anyway. “Have you ever heard of Ernst Blofeld?”

Despite the fact that Q hadn’t professed any kind of magical skill, he was quick to answer, “He’s one of the older magical families, yes?”

“Yes, and have you heard anything about him on the news?”

“I’m a bit behind on things like that,” Q said with some embarrassment. He made a vague gesture at himself, adding, “In my line of work, I’m kept pretty busy, catching up on sleep during the day and… well… _not_ sleeping at night.”

Even with Moneypenny’s skin-tone, an embarrassed blush was evident across her features. Q gave a little shrug, but didn’t apologize for reminding everyone about what he did for a living. James dragged a hand down over his face and tried not to think about what the day-to-day life of a hooker must be like - especially in winter. It was entirely possible that Q had added incentives to find customers, because that meant the possibility of a roof over his head and warmth for a time. 

And tomorrow was Christmas. 

James was too busy feeling absolutely sick to his stomach to really notice as Eve bluntly gave Q the details about what she suspected: that he’d just become a very real pawn in a game of Familiar one-upmanship. Various old families were always vying for power, and clearly someone had thought that if they could harness a fully sentient human being as a Familiar, they’d win. The fact that they’d be ruining the life of a rentboy clearly didn’t make them think twice. 

Said rentboy just sat for a long moment, frozen, eyes unfocused in a way that James knew instantly had nothing to do with nearsightedness. Then, just as Eve called Q’s name uncertainly, Q began to dry-heave and hyperventilate, folding in on himself and clutching at his chest. Eve swore sharply but James just sighed and moved closer to Q again, pretty sure that this reaction had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with being told that you’d been not only attacked, but violated with experimental magic made to subvert your free will. Part of the reason that animal rights’ activists were always campaigning against the use of Familiars was because it was a master-and-servant system - if the mage ordered their creature to do something, the Familiar couldn’t resist. True, James had actually never seen M give her bulldog Familiar an order, and not everyone abused that relationship, but anyone willing to kidnap a human being wasn’t going to then back off and ask politely for their consent afterwards. 

“Easy, Q, easy, just breathe with me,” James urged quietly, hoping that Q didn’t get sick of these phrases. There wasn’t much else to be said, since saying “everything is okay” was an utter lie and even “everything _is going to be_ okay” seemed overly optimistic. Bond pressed Q’s head down between his raised knees, and while that seemed to keep Q from getting worse and actually vomiting from horror, his breathing was still erratic and showed no signs of slowing. On impulse, James took Q’s nearest hand and, ignoring the way Eve was watching him, splayed Q’s fingers against his own chest. “Like this, Q,” James coaxed. Q’s fingers were cold, but started to warm a bit, sandwiched between Bond’s pectoral and palm. Purposefully, James inhaled and exhale slowly. “Just do this one thing for me.”

Miraculously, that worked. A bit later and Q was still sitting with his knees drawn up and his head between them, but he wasn’t panting so hard. His fingers shook a little, but he didn’t try to pull his hand from from Bond’s grasp. 

James looked up to see Eve eyeing him with a raised eyebrow. James glared at her, and mouthed, ‘_This is your fault_.’ The accusation was a bit unfair, but it did a good job of distracting her from the fact that Bond was being as gentle as a mother cat to a kitten - something he was most certainly _not_ known for.

“I’m all right - I’m all right!” Q insisted a few moments later. While it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Bond and Eve, the young man did indeed look almost put together as he raised his head. His eyes were a bit bloodshot and his hair was an absolute catastrophe of black waves, but besides the pensive tensing of his jaw, he looked awake and stubbornly focused. His voice only shook a little as he demanded tensely, “S-So what does this all mean? You said you weren’t entirely certain about this, right?”

Eve gave a reluctant nod of assent. “I’m going to go talk with our boss about this - she keeps a Familiar. But Q, I’m pretty sure that this is what we’re dealing with.”

Q hung his head, avoiding eye-contact but otherwise keeping it together remarkably well. His hand had slipped loose of Bond’s, and now rested in Q’s lap, fisted tightly alongside the other. “And this means that you’ll have to tell her all about me, right?” he said with a touch of bitterness and resignation. 

Again, Eve dipped her head. James was the one who firmly assured, however, “She’s not strictly law-enforcement, though. So you won’t get in trouble, Q.” Then, for no real reason, more words fell out of James’ mouth: “And even M isn’t bitchy enough to drag you out of my flat right now.”

Eve’s eyebrows were rising again, and she looked like she was on the verge of asking James some very uncomfortable questions regarding just how invested he’d become in this situation. James braced himself for some teasing at the very least, but instead, abruptly, Eve got up off the bed, “Don’t you worry, Q. James is right - even if you weren’t more in need of a Spelleater than anyone I know, I can already see that nothing would shift James here from your side.” Something a bit wicked twinkled in her eyes, and while Q’s expression became a moue of confusion, James glared at her. Unaffected by the looks, Moneypenny headed for the door, “I’m going to see if I can get some real answers, and come back when I know more. Hang in there, Q.”

And with that, she disappeared out of the room. There was the brief sound of her gathering her purse and coat, and then letting herself out. 

The flat remained quiet until Q sagged where he sat, saying a bit forlornly, “I suppose that means you’re stuck with me.” Hazel eyes swiveled to James, widening suddenly, “I must be totally ruining your Christmas plans! I'm so sorry. I barely know more about you than your name, but here I am-”

“Q. Q, stop,” James raised a hand, cutting him off. Q stuttered to a halt but still didn’t look happy about it, so James puffed out a little chuckle and continued, “The most you’ve deprived me of is sleep, and we can both catch up on that. And like I said, I don’t really do much for Christmas.”

“No family?” Q asked, alert now, as if he hadn’t quite believed James when he’d spoken of his lonely Christmas plans earlier.

“No.”

“Probably for the best.” Q looked down at his lap ruefully, then looked up almost coyly through his tangled mess of bangs to murmur, “If you go and make that tea your friend started heating water for, and don’t mind staying awake a mite longer, I’ll tell you my sad story of woe. That way, you at least will have some idea what sort of person you’re spending your holiday with.”

Realizing that Q didn’t want to go back to sleep so soon after his last nightmare, and more than a little curious about his history, James gave in easily. Standing up from the bed, he once again held down a hand for Q to grasp. “Deal. I might even be coaxed to make you a hot toddy.”

~^~

Hot toddies in hand, both men were once again on James' sofa. The sky beyond Bond's windows was still pitch-black, but the clock read nearly 5am, and James had pretty much given up on spending any of the night actually sleeping. Q was curled up like some wild creature come in from the cold, bare toes buried between the sofa cushions and his borrowed shirt askew. It actually looked good that way, as Bond let his eyes quietly trace the expanse of collarbone that was revealed. 

Q ran a finger along the edge of his mug, eyes down. "You say you don't have any family, Mr. Bond?" he asked again, subdued. 

"I don't. They died when I was eleven," James admitted, "And you can call me James. I don't think there's any reason for formalities at this point."

Q had looked up while James was talking, revealing the deep, tired circles under his eyes. There was still room amidst the exhaustion for compassion, however, which raised James' esteem of the young man even more. "I'm sorry." There was a bit of silence as James accepted that with a nod - it was an old wound, scarred over - and they both took sips of their drinks. Q closed his eyes and sighed, puffs of warm steam billowing away from his mouth. He said without moving his face away from the warmth or opening his eyes, "My family is very much alive, but it's hard to be grateful for that. I was kicked out of the house when they realized I was a _deviant_, as they called me."

James had a few suspicions where this was leading, so he gentled his voice to say plainly, "They didn't agree with your taste in lovers?" Homophobia was still alive and well in the world, sadly.

Q nodded, and then his posture stiffened subtly. "Does it bother you?" he asked. 

"No," was the only answer James could give, as it was the simple truth. There were far more sensible things to judge people over - such as whether or not they were willing to treat a lone prostitute like a human being.

"Good," Q breathed, relaxing. James didn't expect him to continue, but he did, "And I already know that you won't judge me for my other _deviancy_, seeing as you're a magic-user yourself. Mine is one of those stuffy religious families who thinks all magic is from the devil." While James, who'd assumed Q was a mundane this whole time, just sat at stared, Q watched his reflect in his mug and finished idly, "Although I suppose if they ever hear what's happened to me, they'll think their views are justified."

James was still trying to come to terms with the fact that Ernst Blofeld's son was not only trying to make human Familiars, but magical ones. He realized that he should call Eve. 

James listened a bit numbly as Q talked more about his family, a dam having been burst - now that Q had started to discuss why he'd run away, he seemed unable to stop. It was a simple and unfortunate tale with a few complicated details: Q's family hated magic and homosexuality (among other things, since many kinds of bigotry tended to go hand-in-hand), and since their youngest son had shown signs of both, he was effectively disowned. He’d hidden it long enough to get some schooling, thankfully, but some secrets weren’t meant to be buried forever. The biggest problem was, as much as Q’s parents had wanted to kick him out, they'd wanted even more to 'fix' him, which was why Q had ultimately run away all on his own, and was now doing his best not to be found again. It made James deeply sad to realize that Q found his current lifestyle a better option to what his parents had offered him. Q mentioned that he’d attempted to keep up with online classes - both magical and mundane - as much as his schedule and resources allowed. To James, it was clear that Q had been meant to fly, but circumstances had metaphorically clipped his wings, making even a simple thing like learning difficult. Instead of having a family who housed and supported him through Uni, Q was whoring around to make ends meet and taking online classes in whatever spare time he could get at internet cafes. 

James’ list of people he wanted to shoot on Q's behalf was lengthening steadily...

Q looked exhausted to the bone by the time he'd finished his story. Brief as he'd been on many of the details, it had clearly taken something out of him, and after an already emotionally and physically draining night, Q was clearly done in. 

But he also rather clearly didn't want to go back to sleep, and James didn't blame him. Bond knew a thing or two about being afraid of what dreams would bring - and since Q's nightmares were rooted very heavily in reality, they were all the more fierce. 

So James did the only sensible thing he could: he decided to convince Q to try and catch a few winks on the sofa. "I've got a few phone calls to make, to see if Eve or the police have any updates, so I won't be going to sleep," James said, trying to seem offhand about the whole deal, "I might have to ask you some questions, but I don't want to keep you up entirely."

Q cocked his head. "What do you have in mind?" His drink was nearly done, and the struggle to stay awake was growing evident on his face. He looked painfully eager for any excuse not to go to bed, though. 

James hoped to trick Q into going to sleep, even if it wasn't in a bed. "Well, if you don't mind my company, I was thinking you could stretch out on the sofa. That way, we all win: you can doze off, but if something comes up, I just have to give you a little shake to wake you up and interrogate you." James flashed his most charming smile to reveal the humor in the last sentence. "Plus, I can keep an eye on you," he added, which was true enough.

James suspected that if Q weren't so wrung out and tired, this plan would have been a harder sell. As it was, the young prostitute was already used to crashing in strange places to sleep, and James had made a pretty good offer with very few strings attached - especially since, unbeknownst to Q, Bond had no intentions of waking the young man for any reason. So James got a few blankets, stole a pillow from the bedroom, and turned off all but one lamp in the room - and almost instantly had the dark-haired young fellow passed out next to him on the sofa. 

Bond wasn't sure how it was, however, that Q ended up curled with his head nearly touching James' leg. Then again, considering the fact that James was the one thing keeping Q safe from the magics stuffed inside of him, perhaps James couldn't blame Q for wanting to keep close enough to touch. Heart squeezing unexpectedly in his chest, James tugged the blanket up a little further over Q's shoulders, and very lightly smoothed a stray lock of hair behind one ear. The younger man didn't stir, besides taking in a deeper breath and relaxing more into the sofa as he sighed it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illegal human-to-Familiar-transmogrify... just the way to start off the Christmas season, right, boys? :P


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and James enjoy the morning a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy and domestic chapter <3

James opted to just text people. Less chance of waking up his impromptu flatmate. Since James had actually slept with a few people on the police force, it wasn't actually all that difficult to get into contact with the station this way, and check in on things there, and Eve was quick to message back when he asked for an update from her, too. At first, all she sent back were exclamation points when he told her that Q was actually a magic-user - according to her, that did indeed complicate things. Eve tried to call James then, no doubt to explain Familiar theory to him, but he cancelled the call and immediately sent a text explaining that Q was sleeping and he didn't want to wake him. When Eve then just texted him question marks (knowing full well that James had several rooms in his flat, for privacy), James just texted to ask her to message him the details. Thankfully, she asked no more questions, although James didn't doubt that he'd get an ear-full later about all of this. 

Apparently, Eve had already talked to M, instead of waiting until later - Eve Moneypenny was officially the bravest (or stupidest) person James knew. But they knew a lot more as a result: the Blofeld family and the Silva family had apparently been embroiled in a power struggle for generations, and much of that war had been waged in the form of Familiars. They'd even imported exotic animals to bind to themselves - and if the animals hadn't done as much as they'd hoped to increased their master's powers, well... it was not impossible to break a binding, even if it tended to kill or cripple the Familiar. Yet another reason why animal rights activists (and even everyday folks) were rather against the present-day use of Familiars. From Eve's messages, it sounded like M was very nearly breathing fire about the situation, which was shocking, considering what a cold woman M could be. Based on context clues, it seemed like Eve and M were in the same place right now, debating this issue, although the only one texting Bond was Moneypenny.

From what Eve was able to explain, the reason humans had never been even considered as Familiars was because they were obviously incredibly sentient, and very much their own people. It was hard enough to dominate the will of some animals, and it was considered not only impossible but immoral to do so with humans. Humans with magic were even trickier, since even the most inexperienced mage could actively fight the kinds of magic used to create a Familiar-bond. 

~_However_~ Eve texted ~_it's common knowledge that mages can't use magic when in animal form. Everyone who practices shapeshifting knows that. It's half the reason people get stuck in animal shape so often_~ There was actually an entire department dedicated to returning people to human shape, although generally speaking, people got stuck all on their own because they were idiots - not because someone had designed a glyph to specifically lock them into a shape, as in Q's case. 

~_So do you think those brats knew that Q had magic?_~ James texted back. Q shifted a bit in his sleep, and without looking away from the screen of his phone, James freed a hand to rest it on Q's head. The younger man settled immediately. 

~_Not sure. M thinks that an animal transformation might have been necessary to bring down Q's defenses even if he had no magic_~ Eve replied quickly. 

James pointed out, typing slowly to make sure his diction was as respectable as Eve's (not wanting to be out-done), ~_But Q's mind isn't affected by the spell. I've seen it. Mentally, he's all there, even when he's a cat._~

There was a pause, perhaps as Eve and M conversed. It was a few minutes before a reply, a few minutes in which James absentmindedly stroked Q's hair. ~_M thinks that the maintained sentience is to make the Familiar more powerful. Transforming someone completely, body and mind, into an animal would be the same as just bonding with a regular cat. The more sentience, the more power is gained after the bonding_~

"Jesus Christ," James muttered, lifting his hand from Q's head to run it down his face. James had seen an awful lot of messed up things in his line of work, but this took the cake. He just kept getting more sickened with everything he learned. 

Another unexpected text from Eve popped up: ~_Why again can’t I just call you?_~

With a sigh, James just typed back the truth, because lying took too much energy for too little reward, ~_Q’s asleep on the couch next to me and I don’t want to leave him alone or wake him up_~ He could almost imagine Moneypenny laughing at the other end. M probably wasn’t laughing, being too composed for that, but she was no doubt raising a significant eyebrow at her employee’s strangely compassionate antics. 

Fortunately, the replying texts were all business. ~_All of my research and M’s knowledge is just confirming our suspicions. Q’s basically under a transmogrify spell modified by a bloody complex glyph._~

~_Can you remove it?_~

A long pause. ~_I’ll keep looking into it_~ was the less than reassuring reply. ~_If we hadn’t found out that Q was a magic-user, I’d have suggested he wear cold-iron for life, but that’s not an option now._~

“Fuck,” James sighed, reading between the lines: This was a permanent glyph and couldn’t be removed, only mitigated. And Q had said that his own parents had wanted to ‘fix’ him, meaning they’d probably threatened to put him in cold-iron for life already, which was basically a fate akin to death for magic-users. James looked sadly down to Q, still out cold, bundled up beneath the blankets with his back to the world, arms curled up between himself and the back of the sofa, his head so close to Bond’s hip that wisps of his hair brushed the material of Bond’s trousers. For now, Q was blissfully unaware of the fact that his condition was not only unwanted, but likely unchangeable. James smoothed down some of the locks on the crown of Q’s head and pondered the brutal unfairness of the world. 

James continued to exchange information with Eve and the police station, although at some point, between one text and the next, sleep finally became too difficult to fight. James fell asleep sitting on the couch, one hand on Q’s head, palm against the delicate shell of the young man’s ear, the other losing its grip slowly on the mobile phone. Outside the quiet little flat, the morning of Christmas Eve progressed gently and slowly.

~^~

When James was in the safety and familiarity of his flat, he woke up slowly, as opposed to silently but instantly, as he did whenever he was on a job. Now, he blinked his way into wakefulness at a leisurely pace, aware of natural sunlight replacing the darkness of the room, a crick in his neck from falling asleep on the sofa, and an unexpected weight on his right thigh. A glance down showed him Q, awake and lying now on his back, with his head propped on Bond’s leg like it was only natural. 

He also had a mobile in his hand. It took Bond a good five seconds to realize that it was _his_ mobile, and that Q was texting Eve on it. Just as James opened his mouth to ask what the devil Q was doing, the dark-haired young man spoke up, “Sometime after you fell asleep, I think, you lost your grip on the phone and it fell on my head. So I took the liberty of being a bit nosy.”

Brain still a bit too foggy to get properly upset about that, James just sat and stared down at Q’s head for a few more slow heartbeats. “Oh, you did, did you?” he finally responded, but without any real anger.

Q didn’t seem to be wasting time on unnecessary emotions either - emotions like embarrassment or regret. He just nodded, head tipping against Bond’s leg. “Don’t worry, though, I only went back to the start of this conversation. And I told Eve that I was the one messaging now, instead of you.”

That didn’t entirely mitigate the fact that Q had gotten into Bond’s mobile without permission, but James appreciated the effort at respecting his privacy somewhat - and the fact that Q was being truthful about it all. “So you know everything then?” he asked instead of pursuing the topic of crossing personal boundaries. Either because he was a prostitute, or because that was just how he was, Q didn’t seem to view such boundaries in a normal way… but then again, neither did Bond. 

Q’s voice was carefully emotionless - almost robotic - when he answered quietly, “Yes, I’ve been informed that I am possibly a permanent fixture in a Familiar-based arms-race, and that the curse inside of me currently breaks several laws of magic and probably a few of physics.” Deadpan, Q added, “Oh joy.” 

Q sounded so dead inside that James had to just sigh, and then reached past Q’s head to pluck the phone out of his hands. Q yelped a softly indignant “Hey!” but otherwise didn’t put up much of a fight. He tipped his head to look at James upside-down as the blue-eyed man took his turn at catching up on things. He must had dropped the mobile and woken Q up pretty recently, because it looked like Eve and Q had only been talking for about an hour - whereas it looked like they’d all been sleeping for a good three hours. It was just after 9 am now. Q had apparently coaxed Eve into discussing some of the magical theory behind the entire situation, so some of their texting James couldn’t even follow, but he could definitely understand why Q seemed so hangdog right now: it looked increasingly like Q’s condition was meant to be permanent. 

James started typing.

Q readjusted his position a little, the better to blink upwards at Bond. “What are you texting?”

“I’m asking Eve how long it would take her to make you a set of gloves like mine,” James said simply, “They’ve got cold-iron in them, but in small amounts, and are designed to tamp down on magic without actually making the user sick.” Most times, long exposure to cold-iron would sicken and even kill a magic-user. Bond was able to wear his gloves for hours, though, without any ill-effects - although their creation had taken ages. 

Q wriggled a bit, so that he was on his side and could look up at James from an easier angle. His jawline was still pressed against James’ thigh, but neither of them seemed to mind, so neither man commented. “So you think that something like that could allow me to stay human, without having to become your shadow?” Q asked, looking interested. “Because while your company is really rather nice, I imagine that you don’t want to be tethered to me perpetually.”

“I don’t mind your company either,” James said without thinking, his mind on texting. He missed Q’s surprised flash of a smile. “I don’t know if my gloves would eventually have bad side-effects if worn twenty-four-seven, but they’re also just prototypes, so Eve might be able to make you something better.” Eve replied to one of Bond’s texts then, prompting the blond-haired man to shift himself, saying, “And now Eve wants to test whether something like my cold-iron gloves will work at all. One sec.” It was reflex to cup a hand under Q’s jaw as he slid his leg out from under it, standing to fetch his gloves - and once again James was too focused on other things to see the way Q’s mouth curved upwards just slightly, as warm, calloused fingers brushed the vulnerable underside of his chin. 

By the time James had fished out his gloves, Q was sitting up with the blankets pulled on his lap, kicking his legs idly. Even though Q was perfectly human, James could imagine cat-ears pricking up with interest as James returned to toss the leather gloves into his lap. Q fondled the leather curiously, commenting after a moment of exploration, “I can’t even feel the cold-iron.”

“It’s a very small amount, and tangled up with one of Eve’s most creative glyphs,” James explained, sitting again. “I barely understand it myself, but it works to tamp down on magic if worn - for me, anyway. Hopefully the same will be true for you.”

Q glanced up at him from under his eyebrows. “So I’ll pull these on, and then you’ll… turn your abilities off?”

“And with any luck, you won’t grow whiskers and a tail,” James nodded. 

The attempt at levity worked, as Q chuffed out a quiet laugh and then, without further preamble, tugged both gloves on. They didn’t fit, but Q gave his hands a nervous little flex and then lifted his head and stated with all the martyred pride of someone going before a firing squad, “Okay, I’m ready.”

“If this doesn’t work, I can turn my skill back on as fast as thinking,” James assured seriously. “If I see you so much as start to transform, I’ll shut that curse down.” Eve had hesitated to call it a curse, but James decided right then that there was no point in calling it anything else: curses were evil and malignant and sought to destroy their victims, and that was basically Q’s situation. Someone wanted him destroyed, broken down until he could be magically bound to another person’s will. 

When Q just pursed his lips and gave another troubled nod, James focused inwards and reined in his Spelleater abilities. 

They both tensed.

Q closed his eyes, hands fisting in Bond’s gloves. 

Nothing happened. 

“Are… are you doing it?” Q opened one eye hesitantly. “Have you turned yourself off?”

“Well, my charm never turns off,” James said with a smug smirk, unable to help it as relief rushed through him, “but for the moment, I’m not being a Spelleater, so we can safely say that gloves like those will work for you, at least to a point.” 

After a pause, Q burst into startled laughter, a grin all but taking over his face. It was then that James realized that he hadn’t truly seen Q happy yet - and he’d clearly been missing out on something marvelous. Q’s laughter was bright and real, his smile utterly infectious, making him look younger and suddenly free. Of course, in that moment, Q was basking in the first glimpse of hope that he’d seen in the past twenty-four hours. Unable to help it, James smiled back, and was soon chuckling along with Q’s elation. If it all had an edge of hysteric relief about it, well, no one could blame them. 

“Finally, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s not an oncoming train!” Q said wryly, regaining himself. He flexed his hands inside the oversized gloves again, just marveling at them. Then he looked up at James with mild chagrin on his face, “I remember you saying that it’s more tiring for you to deny your nature, though, so now that we’ve tested this theory, there’s no reason to keep it up, James.”

In a heartbeat, James was a Spelleater again, power rushing outwards like water released from behind a dam. Q, already wearing gloves that were magic-dampening, didn’t bat an eye, but he likely noticed the perceptible loosening of James’ shoulders as he relaxed his control. “I’ll text Eve to commission her for a set of gloves that fit you better,” James said, taking up the phone again and then glancing at Q, “Unless you’d like to ask her if she could make some other article of clothing?”

“I actually work with my hands a lot - when I’m not working street corners, I mean,” Q said, cheeks only pinking the tiniest bit as he mentioned his profession. With some reluctance, but knowing that they weren’t necessary now, he began pulling off Bond’s gloves. “I’m rather skilled at making things, and I like computers. I was hoping to go into the tech industry before things went south with my family.” Folding the gloves between his hands for no other reason than to keep his fingers busy, Q looked up shyly, “Do you think Eve would mind trying to make me something else? Or maybe just fingerless gloves?”

James hadn’t the faintest idea what a Glyphist like Eve could or could not do, but suddenly he was determined to get Q a pair of cold-iron-glyphed fingerless gloves. “I think that might work.” 

“I… uh…” Q started speaking and James looked up to him, even as he saw a return text from Eve in his peripheral vision. The dark-haired young man was looking uncomfortable again, even as he handed back James’ gloves. Hazel eyes flicked up to meet Bond’s, “I can’t pay you back, you know.” Q’s head tipped back, watching James through his lashes and eyes taking on a bedroom look with disturbing ease as the young man added, “Not with cash, at least.”

“Not that you don’t make a tempting sight,” James freely admitted, because bloody hell, Q did: dressed in one of James’ favorite shirt, hair already rumpled suggestively, and a mixture of vulnerably young yet still very much an adult that Bond was _very_ partial to... But what he wasn’t partial to the feeling that someone was having sex with him purely out of obligation. So James rested an arm against the back of the couch, leaned forward, and turned on the charm even as he made his point clear, “But if you and I end up tumbling in the sheets, I want it to be because you find me irresistible, not because you’re repaying an I.O.U. And you don’t, by the way.”

Q’s eyes narrowed, unsure if he should be offended at this point. “I don’t what?” 

“Owe me.” Just in case there was any leftover misunderstanding, James added over his shoulder as he stood up to replace his gloves by the door, “But you _do_ turn me on, so if we ever meet under less questionable circumstances, feel free to give me a wink. I'm good at taking hints like that, I'm told.”

James was granted the pleasure of Q’s low chuckles behind him as he walked into the kitchen to rustle up some breakfast. What had started out as a terrible night was already promising to be one of the best (or at least most interesting) Christmases that James could remember.

~^~

Q was surprisingly good company, and had a quick, witty humor that was forever catching James off-guard. He was a passable cook, too, although when he tried to insist that he should cook (because regardless of what James said, Q did feel a bit like he owed the man a debt), James pushed back, saying that Q was a guest. Ultimately, they ended up compromising, sharing cooking duties so that James was both a gracious host, and Q didn’t feel uncomfortable or embarrassed by doing nothing. As omelets were put together, Q began to fill the kitchen with surprisingly funny stories.

“Not everything about my profession is bad,” Q maintained, chopping up bits of packaged ham that James luckily still had (and was still good) in his refrigerator. Q’s deft hands handled the knife with elegant precision even as he shrugged and kept talking, “I mean, a lot of it isn’t exactly ideal, but a good number of my clients are just really lonely people. Some of them are like me, with a family who can’t ever know that they’re gay, so the only way they can have fulfilling sex is by buying it.” 

Bond got the sense that Q didn’t actually tell stories about those people out of respect; instead, James guessed that Q told stories about the clients who were _less_ respectable, but not so bad that Q didn’t want to relive the experience via storytelling. By the number of hilarious stories Q was able to expound upon, it sounded like the majority of people he slept with fell into this category, and more than once Bond ended up in tears laughing at some lamentable escapade. When he apologized for laughing (after all, they were talking about some very intimate moments for Q), the younger man just grinned back, unabashed, and said if he didn’t want James to laugh, he would have picked sadder stories. That sobered the moment a bit, but by then, food was finished and ready to eat.

Things really got interesting after that, because now that Q had started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. James wondered how long it had been since Q had just sat down with someone for a chat. Q was also incredibly animated, and soon a stray pen on the counter found its way into Q’s hand, and the two men started talking mechanics again - this time with Q illustrating things on napkins. Before long, the food was all devoured, but Q was still talking and they’d moved on from talking about cars and guns to computers and coding. James didn’t know the first thing about either of those topics really, but by this point he was simply fascinated by Q in general. 

“What did you say you went to school for again?” he interrupted at one point, after just listening and watching to Q for a good five minutes. 

Q stopped talking, a little flustered as his momentum was halted. He nonetheless canted his head slightly and asked in return, “Before or after I ran away from home?”

“Either.” James shrugged. “Both.”

“Well, before my life went completely tits up for the first time,” Q pondered, tapping his pen against his latest drawing - which was incredibly detailed and only made the vaguest sense to Bond, “I was working on a university degree in engineering, focusing on computers. It’s harder to find decent programs to take for credit online, though, so I’ve gotten more into programming.” Q’s brows beetled, and he asked as if it had just occurred to him, “Or were you asking about magical classes?”

That led to a whole new vein of discussion, and by this point, James was unquestionably sure that Q was a bonafide genius. It not only blew James’ mind that Q could comprehend all of the topics that he did, especially considering his challenging upbringing, but it also floored James that so many people in Q’s life hadn’t appreciated this: his parents had seen Q only for what they saw as flaws, and had kicked him out, and Blofeld’s son had seen only an available body to magically experiment on. Why had no one taken the time to sit down with Q and realize how bloody amazing he was?

“You’re staring,” Q said, pulling James out of his musing and back to the here and now. Q had another design all sketched out on another napkin (this was napkin-design number ten, it looked like), and was twirling his pen nervously between his fingers as he added, “I mean, I’m used to people staring, but usually when I’m dressed a lot more provocatively.”

Instead of saying what he wanted to say, which was that Q was provocative no matter what he was wearing, James cleared his throat abruptly and tried to come up with something a bit more appropriate to say. He glanced down at Q’s latest sketch, trying to make heads or tails of it, even as he grasped at the last bit of conversation he could accurately remember and comment on. “Well, you were talking about taking magical classes online. As someone who took plenty of those classes in person and still barely managed to scrape through uni, I can safely say that a bit of impressed staring is warranted.”

Q’s cheeks pinked and he smiled, transparently pleased. “Well, it’s mostly just theory. I don’t have much practical application under my belt.”

“When you say you don’t have much, does that mean you have some?” James asked, telling himself that his curiosity was just because of his job: he was trained to interrogate people. The problem was, he really had no reason to interrogate Q, and yet he wanted to learn all about him anyway. 

“Well…” Q ran his free hand back through his hair, looking as though he was struggling to remain humble. “The most challenging course I’ve managed to complete so far was focused on astral projection, and I’ve actually managed to apply it - a bit!” he hastened to add.

James could have told him that that wasn’t necessary; James himself didn’t have a humble bone in his body, and Q had definitely earned the right to shine, unfettered. “It’s not an easy skill to master,” he praised.

Q blushed again, both hands fiddling now with the pen. “Well, I didn’t say that I’d mastered it. I still need to use a trigger to get myself out of my body, and I usually get pulled back in pretty quickly.”

Scrounging up his meagre knowledge of astra projection from his general, intro-level courses years ago, James asked in return simply because he wanted Q to keep talking, “What kind of trigger do you need?” A beat later, and James was proud to recall, “I actually had a classmate back in uni who specialized in astral projection - even after four years of study, though, she still used this damn whistle as a sound-trigger to shock her spirit from her body, however.”

“I need to use pain,” Q admitted with a rueful wince, “It’s a beginner’s trigger, I know. I guess that my body is just so used to living in the corporeal, mundane world that it keeps rebelling.” James was about to open his mouth and say that while pain might be known as the ‘beginner's trigger,’ there was nothing to scoff about when it came to using pain as part of a magical task. Before he could say anything, however, Q suddenly sat up straight and became excited all over again, “Oh! But I think that there are ways in which society hasn’t properly tapped the potential of astral projection. It’s a dying practice, did you know? Not many people astral project, because we have so many easier ways to get to faraway places, both physically and digitally - planes, phones, etcetera…”

And from there, Q devolved into a highly theoretical talk about how magic and technology needed to be combined more often, and that the best candidates were astral projection and computer programming. Napkin number eleven was unfolded, Q’s borrowed pen working overtime as he began to describe ways in which a magical athame could be combined with basically a highly specialized USB connection to allow a magic-user to project themselves right into a piece of technology - “the interface of the future,” Q called it, while James just stared and blinked and felt very, very stupid, but also very, very impressed. At least James knew what an athame was: a ritualistic blade that was essentially imbued with raw magic, and was sharper than a shard of obsidian. They were highly prized, specialized magical tools. Just last month James had been called a shameless savage for using one to stab an opponent in the leg during a mission. What? It was sharp...

Q was bending over his drawing now, trying to walk James through it as he pointed at different lines in the design. Surprisingly (and fortunately), Q was proving to be a better lecturer than most of the professors James had had. “...So you see, athames are already some of the best tools for pain-triggers, considering their sharpness and magical properties. But if I connected it with wires, here, to a computer…”

It wasn’t long before James was lost again, but there was something so deeply magical about watching Q describe these things that he’d been denied the right to learn about by his parents… The blond-haired man found himself watching and nodding, asking questions wherever he could, just so that he could make clear to Q that this was a conversation that deserved to continue. It was worth it, to watch Q unfold like a lily in the sun. 

~^~

Q crashed around noon, ending up sprawled on the sofa with one arm thrown over his eyes. He’d actually crashed ten minutes ago, but James had roused him just enough to convince him to take his contact lenses out so they didn’t get glued to his eyeballs while he slept. Semi-conscious, Q had blinked owlishly but agreed. Somewhere between Q stumbling to the loo to get them out, James was also able to ask if Q had any spare glasses stashed away anywhere. Q did, and James mentally tucked that information away, although he didn’t press for more information in regards to where. 

Now, James dragged a blanket gently over Q’s passed-out figure before wandering back to the kitchen. Fully twenty drawings were strewn across the table, all with incredibly detailed designs inked onto them - and all of them, James strongly suspected, did not exist. Q had invented them, totally without assistance, all while also trying to survive and make it by day-to-day. “Christ,” James breathed, both impressed and appalled that someone could be so brilliant and so unfortunate at the same time. The blue-eyed man reached out to bring one of the drawings closer to him: the techno-athame. Q had been the most animated when he’d talked about this one, probably because the boffin had assured James that it would work - if he could just make it. Right now, it was an absolutely brilliant tool that lived nowhere but in Q’s head, and on this napkin. 

For a long moment, James just stared at it, tracing the inked lines with thoughtful eyes. It looked so very simple at first glance: just a regular athame, with its short, thin blade like a letter-opener, but with its hilt plugged into wires. The point of connection was heavily annotated by Q, and James didn’t understand a lick of it. 

But whenever there was something James didn’t know, there was always _someone_ he knew. This was how he’d done so well in life, despite the fact that he’d been a mediocre pupil in school at best: James knew how to use the resources he had to his advantage. Pulling out his phone, he took a moment to get it to focus before snapping a clean photo of Q’s design, then pulled up R’s number from work. ~_I was wondering if you could look at this for me. Consider it a last-minute Christmas present for someone who really deserves it_~ he texted as he sent the picture. He didn’t expect R to be able to build Q’s design by tomorrow, but considering all of the technological work she helped do behind the scenes for MI6, hopefully she’d at least be able to weigh in on how feasible this marriage of magic and tech was.

Just in case R thought that James was referring to himself when he said ‘_someone who really deserves it,_’ he quickly sent another text, clarifying that this was for a friend. 

Looking over at the pale, thin figure passed out on his sofa, James decided that Q really did deserve a bit of joy this Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James isn't a hard candy with a soft, gooey center... noooooo, not at all.... nope. No soft underbelly here. *firmly shakes head*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some domestic fluff - and then James and Q go for a little drive to pick up Q's spare glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q might be catching some feels ;) Either that or James is just too pretty not to stare ate...

As always, Q woke up with a jot of adrenalin, heart giving a hard thump against his ribs even as he instinctively held very still, waiting for his brain to reboot so that he could answer the important questions: Where am I? What’s the last thing I remember? Am I someplace safe? Thankfully, Q’s mind was quick to recollect his night/morning with Bond, and while some of those memories made his chest constrict with remembered fear, the fact that he was cozy and warm now helped him to settle down. There was a blanket over him he didn’t recall dragging over himself. Curious. 

When Q flickered his eyes open, the world around him blurry but well lit, he was able to pick out the silhouette of broad shoulders and golden hair leaning against the wall across the room. “Awake?” James’ low, easy voice further assured Q that he was in the room with someone he knew and, despite the short time they'd known each other, trusted. “I was about to wake you up to see if you wanted a bite, but then I saw you tense up on your own.”

Realizing what an awkward habit that was - although no one had ever noticed it before, despite how many people Q had woken up beside - Q felt his cheeks heat, and he scrounged up a self-deprecating smile as he sat up. “Sorry, I just do that. It probably wouldn’t matter if I was sleeping in the Queen’s own rooms - I’d still wake up as if I were in a warzone.”

Instead of seeming disturbed by this, Q just caught James’ shoulders rising and falling in a shrug beneath the black of his pullover. “I do the same,” was all the man said, and to Q’s surprise, that was that. It was a surprisingly pleasant feeling, for his oddness to be accepted so quickly. Bond went on, “It’s nearly five, so I figured I’d ask if you had any preferences on what you wanted to eat. Although we might be working with limited resources, since it’s a bit hard to order out on Christmas eve.” 

“I’m not picky,” Q said quickly, “or allergic to anything.” He dragged a hand back through his hair, trying to collect that last of his thoughts from the soft muddle of sleep. Pushing up from the couch and trying not to trip on the pooling blanket, he went on, “Here, let me put my contacts in and I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to, but you can if you want,” James said easily, and Q found himself wishing more than ever for his contact lenses (or, better yet, his glasses, which he honestly preferred), so that he could see the man’s expression. As Q made his retreat towards the bathroom again, perhaps the government mage read his mind, because Bond called after him, “Do you have a spare set of glasses somewhere? We could always go for a drive and get them. You may be stuck with me for the foreseeable future, but that doesn’t mean we’re stuck indoors.”

Q paused, torn between wanting his glasses and not wanting to impose more than he already was. Ultimately, the familiar feel of spectacles on his nose won out, and he decided to lean on James’ goodwill just a little bit more. “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be wonderful. Although you have to understand…” Q paused, one hand on the bathroom door and eyes flicking down reflexively. He wet his lips and went on delicately, “The place where I live… well… It’s not the most… grand of places.”

“I won’t judge.”

“It also might not be strictly legal,” Q clarified with a wince. Since he’d already told James that he was a hooker and a runaway, he figured that one more demerit really couldn’t make a difference. If nothing else, there was no point in hiding any more secrets from Bond - after all, not only had the man saved him from essentially magical slavery, but he _had_ seen Q naked… and without paying, too. Now _that_ was a rare thing. 

Shifting from foot to foot, Q waited for James to comment on the possibility of Q illegally squatting, but instead the agent just took a moment of silence to digest that, and then sighed. “I’ll make sure that I’m officially off-duty when we go,” he decided eventually, “If I go as an agent of the Crown, we might have legal issues, but if I’m just driving you around as a friend, then who am I to judge?” And with that, James turned to walk into the kitchen, his body language signalling that the topic was closed.

Q was left with a curious, pleasant fizzing sensation in his gut, like he’d just swallowed a big gulp of champagne. He kept replaying Bond’s sentence in his head, paying particular attention to the word ‘friend.’ 

~^~

When Q came back out of the bathroom, fully able to see again, James was just putting away his phone, presumably having been texting. Christ, but the man was stunning all over again every time Q saw him. It wasn’t even that that the Spelleater was typically handsome; scarred and with crow’s-feet around his eyes and generally rough around the edges, it was something about the way Bond moved that made him more than a little bit mouthwatering. In fact, Q had to stop himself from staring when he realized that James had looked up to him, one eyebrow questioningly raised. 

Clearing his throat, Q broke the silence before he could be questioned about his ogling, “So, what’s the plan?”

James’ expression smoothed out and he replied easily, gesturing deeper into the kitchen, “I was actually thinking on just a light meal, and then we can get moving more quickly to get your glasses. If you’re still peckish when we get back, I can work on getting something more filling.”

Q walked as Bond’s hand directed, finding sandwiches already on the table. It immediately caught Q by surprise, in a good way, making a small, warm smile tug unbidden at his mouth. Although Q did have some acquaintances, even people he’d call friends, on the streets of London, the list of people who made time to take care of him was a short one - and most of the people on the list were hookers like himself, or other similarly disadvantaged individuals who understood what his life was like. Bond, though, had barely met him. The sandwiches were simple, so it wasn’t like James was laying out a kingly feast for him - but somehow that made it easier for Q to accept. Something decadent would have made him suspicious. Instead, still smiling, Q wandered up to the table and took one of two sandwiches, noticing it already cut in half. 

“Hope you don’t mind turkey and swiss,” James said, grabbing his own piece and making a slightly rueful face, “It was all I currently had in the fridge.”

Q mumbled something about not minding whatsoever, the words a bit garbled around a bite of bread, meat, and cheese. They ate quickly and in contentedly silence, James sitting down on the edge of the table and Q leaning up against the kitchen counter; the latter realized that he needed that quiet, if only to soak in the sensation of _normality_. It had been ages since he’d been inside a place that felt like a home for more than the time it took for a quick fuck, and certainly no one had ever just sat and eaten a meal with him. As he finished off the last of the crumbs, he realized with sudden embarrassment that his eyes were hot and wet, and he scrubbed at them quickly before the tears could fall.

Without looking up, Q could sense the larger man watching him, but James remained quiet. When Q lowered his hands, aware that his face was undoubtedly a bit flushed and he likely looked out of sorts, all Bond did was watch him with a calm, nonjudgmental look and then say, “Ready to go?” as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

An exhale of relief seemed like it was punched out of him. Q sagged back against the counter a bit, glad for the lack of interrogation about how he was feeling. “Yes. Certainly,” he managed as primly as possible.

James merely nodded, stood, and smiled as he said, “Let me see if I can fetch a coat that will fit you.”

~^~

Unsurprisingly, all of James’ coats were big on Q, but at least they were warm. Delightfully so. As James drove to the part of town that Q designated, Q hunched his shoulders so that he could bury himself in the leather jacket’s woolen collar - besides the warm scent of leather, he also picked up musky cologne, the scent of gunpowder, and occasionally a whiff of something like ozone that Q was starting to associate with the scent of Bond’s magic. It was a subtle sort of smell, but by this point, Q had been in close-quarters with the government mage often enough that he was pretty sure he wasn’t just imagining it. He was also pretty sure that James’ eyes glowed when he stopped fettering his Spelleater abilities and just let loose. Right now, as James drove with his gloves on the console between them, his eyes had an extra, sapphire brightness to them that they didn’t seem to have when his powers were under tight control. 

Q realized that he was staring again and snapped his gaze forward, tucking his nose down into the jacket collar once more. 

This time, though, James’ voice reached out to him with an undeniably teasing tone, “See something you like?”

“Usually that’s my line,” Q found himself volleying back. He was rewarded by a bark of laughter, and was proud of himself for startling the sound out of the other man. It felt so nice to simply chat with someone - to toe the line of flirtation without also having to think about payment and personal safety - that Q went ahead and actually answered the question, “Your eyes are very blue.” His words were softer than his first sentence, but sincere. Surprisingly, James merely hummed, accepting that. Clearly, James Bond was either a supremely unflappable man, or so self-confident that he simply took compliments as his due. Q was used to compliments going somewhere, for flirting to lead to groping to lead to fucking. Now, to have it simply start and stop like a normal conversation, fading back like a tide, made him relax in a way he hadn't in a long time. He sagged into his seat, cozy in his borrowed clothes, and watched the world slide by through the windows. 

Q kept giving directions, and some of his good mood faded as they came closer and closer to the abandoned building that he presently called home. He moved around a lot, but this was actually one of the nicer places that he’d crashed in - although it was getting chilly enough that he’d have to see if he could find a legitimate shelter to take him in, soon. He refused to consider the possibility of just staying with Bond, in his nice warm house with his nice, cushy sofa. “This is the place,” Q said a bit stiffly, sitting up and watching as a grimy, aged building loomed up before them. They were in a forgotten part of town, and it felt like they were on the edge of civilization, where only the dregs of humanity lived. 

With the same respectful silence that James had maintained for at least the last few miles, Bond pulled the car to a stop at the curb. Q grimaced, swiveling to face him as well as the inevitable awkwardness he knew would follow. “You might want to stay in the car,” he said, figuring that was the least embarrassing way to proceed, “People around here sometimes see a nice car like this, and think ‘What an opportunity!’ if it’s left unattended.” With that, the younger man pushed open the door and made to get out.

“Q.” A hand on Q’s arm stopped him. He flinched on reflex, all of the relaxation he’d felt previously being replaced by a flashback to any of the scores of hands that had grabbed him like this, holding him back from an attempted exit. However, he had the self-awareness to hold himself still and then turn, knowing that this wasn’t some random john. This was Bond, and Bond was here to help him, not own him. 

James was looking at him with a slightly rueful expression, and his free hand was holding out his cold-iron gloves. “You’ll need these, unless you want to turn into a cat somewhere in the building,” he reminded. 

Q immediately felt silly, ears going hot and no doubt quite pink. “Shit,” he muttered, actually a little bit scared at how easily he’d forgotten about this issue. James released him and Q hurried to pull on both of the gloves, anxiety making his hands quiver until he had them covered. He felt no different once he had them on, but knew what a difference they would make.

“Don’t be long,” James advised, just as Q made to retreat from the car again. The man’s voice was lower by an octave, his blue eyes very quietly serious, “I might be here as your friend, but let’s just say I’m the protective sort of friend. If you’re in there for longer than fifteen minutes, chances are high that I’ll go in after you, even if it means coming back to a car with no tires left.”

Life had taught Q to be immensely wary of possessive behavior in other people, but for once, he found his mind instead focusing again on that word ‘friend.’ He cracked a lopsided smile. “I’d like to point out that you’re a very wary man, James Bond,” he said by way of acknowledgement.

Bond reflected the crooked smile, something flickering in his gaze that was hard to decipher. He answered obliquely, “Let’s just say my job has given me some very paranoid habits - and even if that weren’t the case, you do have my very rare gloves.”

That put things into perspective. Still half in the car and half out of it, Q looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers within the warn, black leather. He closed one into a fist and pressed it against his chest, imagining that he could feel the monstrous glyph aching against his skin - only temporarily deadened by the cold-iron in James’ gloves. “I suppose I should be a bit careful, also seeing as I’m quite a rare commodity myself,” he said bitterly. 

This time, when James reached out, it was slowly enough that Q saw it coming. He actually considered pulling moodily away, but something kept him still, and a moment later one of Bond’s hands was wrapped around Q’s fist. Q found himself cataloguing the many scars across the man’s skin, mostly centered on his knuckles. James was a fighter. “If it helps,” James intoned, “I don’t think that your attackers had any real chance to spread the word about what they did. So you’re basically a _well-kept_ secret right now.”

“That actually helps a little bit,” Q let out a breath, digesting the idea that he might not be in too much direct danger - not yet, at least. He slid his eyes in Bond’s direction, asking jadedly, “So how long do you think this reprieve will last, before I become obscenely popular with some really sick people?”

James’ grimace and the way he glanced away was an answer in and of itself. “I’m not sure, but just in case, you might grab more than just your glasses. I think I’ll keep you up at mine until we know more.” Abruptly, Bond looked back at Q again, seeming to belatedly realize what he’d said. Fortunately, he seemed more worried about Q feeling cloistered than about the prospect of having an unexpected flatmate, as he hurried to add, “Unless that’s going to be a problem for you.”

“If it’s good with you, it’s good with me,” Q said, flashing a smile that was more real than most of the expressions he used on a daily basis. His own smile bloomed a bit wider when James returned it, the warmth in his chest feeding off the acceptance in the other man’s small nod. Q finally pushed himself the rest of the way out of the car, gloves snug on his hands and coat cozy around him. “Back in a jiff,” he assured, before pushing the door closed and hurriedly trotting around the side of the building, where he knew there to be a door with a faulty lock.

Once inside, it was a bit warmer. This building was largely abandoned, and definitely didn’t have much by way of heating, but it was out of the elements, and thus far, the weather in London had been good on its homeless population. Q liked to avoid most shelters, for fear that his family might be looking for him. He’d have avoided civilization entirely if he didn’t like eating - and since he liked eating, that meant he had to keep himself clean and fresh enough that people would like to fuck him for a little bit of money. It was a stressful set-up, but Q managed, even if that meant sneaking a shower at a random customer’s place on occasion. 

Q had barely eased the old door shut again when he sensed someone behind him. Turning, Q was met by a silhouette wielding a long, crooked pipe, raised threateningly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *innocent author face* Oh, look, a cliffhanger *bats the end of the chapter off the countertop just to watch the chaos*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to the magical Christmas shenanigans!

_Q had barely eased the old door shut again when he sensed someone behind him. Turning, Q was met by a silhouette wielding a long, crooked pipe, raised threateningly. _

“If this is how you greet people, then it’s no wonder I always get more customers than you,” Q stated primly, facing the other young man with arms folded. 

The shadows fell back from an angular, expressive face as Q’s sometimes-roommate stepped forward, recognition flashing in hazel eyes. “Fuck, bruv, I wasn’t expecting you back. If your stuff wasn’t still here, I’d have thought you’d found yourself a sugar daddy and run off.” Those same hazel eyes took a slow once-over of Q’s appearance, all of it borrowed save the shoes. Eyebrows rose. “Or maybe you did.”

“I haven’t found a sugar-daddy, Eggsy,” Q rolled his eyes back. He started further into the building, and his companion fell into step easily. The pipe was lowered, although Q knew that Eggsy was far more capable of using it than Q - but then again, when Eggsy couldn’t get enough money whoring, he usually made it up by fighting. “In all honesty, it’s been a rough twenty-four hours.”

“Doesn’t look it,” Eggsy opined, reaching out to pinch the sleeve of Q’s coat (Bond’s coat) between his fingers. When Q elbowed him in return, the more muscular youth’s expression shifted into something more concerned, showing that he’d just been teasing. “What’s been going on?”

Deciding that at least someone needed to know where Q was and why (on the off-chance that James Bond did suddenly become a creepy kidnapper or murderer), Q began detailing all that had happened - from the moment he’d been attacked and knocked unconscious, to now as he prepared to go into hiding. 

“Fuuuuck.” Eggsy dragged the word out a bit, giving it the emphasis it deserved. While Q still maintained a lot of the posh language that he’d grown up with, Eggsy spoke a lot more roughly, and his accent was now thick with hidden anger over what had happened. “That’s messed up.”

Q agreed with a nod even as he packed his things into his dusty old backpack. Eggsy started helping, but as he crouched down next to Q, he asked in a quieter tone, “Are you _sure_ staying with this James bloke is a good idea?”

Again, Q nodded, although he chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “I don’t have a lot of other options, unless I want to go to the police,” he reminded, to which Eggsy pulled a face. Eggsy was also not exactly friendly with the authorities, on account of him being what was referred to as an ‘illegal mage.’ He was capable of magics that were, strictly speaking, not allowed - not without a licence, at least, and considerable government oversight. Unfortunately, since he’d been born with these powers, he couldn’t exactly amputate them, so Eggsy settled for hiding his abilities and avoiding people who might ask questions. 

Q kept talking, fishing out a permanent marker and grabbing Eggsy’s hand, “Here, just in case James is dangerous, here’s his address. So if I mysteriously disappear, you know where to start looking for my body.”

“That’s dark, bruv,” Eggsy commented, but only mildly. In their profession, both young men were used to the constant threat of things ending badly for them. It was habit to just joke about it, and then patiently take steps to stay safe - like scribbling out Bond’s address onto the back of Eggsy’ hand. “You have his phone number?”

Q knew that, too, from his time texting Bond’s friend Eve, the Glyphist. He penned it in below the address, and Eggsy smiled a small, vicious smile that said he’d make Bond’s life a living hell if anything happened to Q. It was reassuring, even if Q didn’t think that any sort of vengeance would be necessary. Besides, Eggsy didn’t even have a working phone at present - and sadly, neither did Q, his mobile having been lost in the attack. Still, this gave them an avenue of communication, especially after Q got Eggsy to promise that he’d go to the cheap internet cafe across town - it would be easier to at least leave and check messages to each other there. Message tag was better than isolation.

Putting the cap back on the marker, Q quickly went back to packing up the last of his meagre belongings, Eggsy helping. “Gotta go,” Q puffed, swinging his now-heavy backpack up into place, “Otherwise Bond’s going to barge in here and the two of you will meet in person.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!” Eggsy protested, putting on a remarkably effective pout. It made Q laugh. 

“I already have enough chaos in my life without the two of you getting into a scrap,” Q said with a long-suffering sigh, at which Eggsy scoffed, and in that brief moment, everything in Q’s world felt a little bit more all right. “Stay safe, Eggsy!”

Eggsy gave him a lazy wave, retorting, “That’s my line. You’re the one who’s gotten neck-deep into trouble.”

Trotting off towards the door, Q called back with a bit more dark humor, “No argument there.”

“Hey, Q?”

Q turned back, seeing Eggsy standing a bit awkwardly with hands in pockets, shifting his weight. After a moment, though, the other young man put on a small but real smile, saying with quiet sincerity, “Have a merry Christmas.”

Smiling quietly back, Q gave one last little wave and returned, “You, too,” before turning outside, where James and his warm car was still waiting.

~^~

The car had not been vandalized and James had not left the vehicle to come hunt Q down by the time the boffin got back in. He put his bag down by his feet, saying unnecessarily, “That’s everything.” He fished out a battered case, adding, “Even found my spare set of glasses.” He considered mentioning Eggsy, but closed his mouth, instinctively keeping a few secrets behind his teeth.

“Fantastic,” James greeted the news as he shifted the car into gear. As he began pulling away from the curb, though, he checked, “Are you still okay with the idea of sticking with me for a while?”

Q nodded then shrugged. “Not much choice really.” He slipped the gloves off, but James waved his hand instead of taking them back. The relief that washed down Q’s spine was unexpected as he slipped them back on. “I’m not complaining. While it looks like I’ll be losing a lot of revenue over this, at least I’m getting to stay in a place much nicer than mine - I hope you don’t expect me to pay rent, though,” Q joked. Well, half-joked. He glanced over to see how James would react to the statement, just in case.

Thankfully, Q’s first impressions of the blond-haired mage were correct, and Bond waved aside the idea just as he’d waved aside the gloves. “Wouldn’t dream of it. We’ll just call this my Christmas present to you, hmm?”

“You don’t even know me,” Q scoffed. Secretly, though, he was touched by the sentiment.

“I know that you haven’t tried to shoot me, stab me, hex me, or otherwise make my life miserable,” James said as he moved them back into traffic, “Believe it or not, that puts you above many of the people I associate with.”

Q turned to just stare at James for a moment. Finally, he deadpanned, “That’s an atrociously low bar to set, I hope you know.”

Without looking away from the road, James smirked. “And yet, you’d be surprised how few people surpass it in my line of work.” 

The only answer Q could come up with to that was a shake of his head, as he marvelled at just how bad it must be to work as a government mage. No wonder Eggsy stayed so stubbornly under the radar, to avoid getting roped in.

“Hungry?” James asked next.

“I could eat more. Not that the sandwich wasn’t lovely.”

“I think I might be able to find us something more at my flat,” James replied, and Q thought he caught a twinkle in the man’s pale-blue eyes, before James turned his head to scan traffic and take a left turn. 

The two of them chatted about idle things for the rest of the drive. While James was pretty close-lipped about some details of his job, he nonetheless had some pretty amusing - even exciting - anecdotes about using his Spelleater abilities against various recalcitrant magic-users. In return, Q found James surprisingly easy to open up to, because even when Q let slip raunchier and raunchier details about his day-job (or, rather, night-job), the other man didn’t seem phased. It was nice to talk to someone who listened and just treated Q like any other human being with a less-than-ideal profession that nonetheless paid enough to keep him fed. Q felt like he could tell James not just the funny stories, but the frustrating ones, too. 

By the time they made it back to Bond’s flat, Q was gesticulating as he reiterated one of his more interesting encounters (sometimes people’s kinks just fascinated him). James listened with clear interest, sometimes frowning but usually asking questions instead of laying out judgments. “I’ve been in too many questionable situations to judge other people on what they get up to,” James had already made clear as they’d talked. As Bond opened the door, however, not turning on the lights but nudging Q through the threshold first, the government agent fell quiet. Q caught the way James’ blue eyes flicked forwards into the darkness of the flat, but he also noticed that the man was smiling. Unexpectedly, Q thought he smelled cooked ham.

Suddenly, all of the lights came on. Q jumped right back into James’ belaying arm, and found himself staring at three people who were now shouting, “Merry Christmas!” 

Flabbergasted, Q just stared. If James hadn’t been behind him with an arm around his middle, he’d have fallen right over. As it was, he let his bag drop to the floor with a quiet _thump._

James kicked the door closed behind them. “Merry Christmas, Q - let me introduce you to everybody,” he said calmly, as if this were all totally natural… or as if this had not been a surprise to him at all.

A familiar face immediately approached: Eve. “James might have mentioned that the two of you weren’t getting a proper Christmas, so we’re fixing that.” She extended a slim hand. “I wouldn’t call last night a proper introduction, though, so let’s try it again: I’m Eve.”

Q managed to kick himself into motion enough to step shakily out of Bond’s personal space, enough so that he could shake Eve’s hand. For all that the bone-structure looked delicate, she had a firm grip, and calluses, he noticed for the first time. “I… It’s nice to meet you. Again?” he stumbled his way through a polite response. 

Clearly, Eve was an extrovert once she’d gotten a bit of sleep, as she introduced the other two strangers in the room - an unassuming middle-aged man named Bill Tanner, and a younger woman with heavy eyeliner and piercings but a kindly smile who seemed to just go by ‘R.’ They immediately bonded a bit over their single-letter titles. No one mentioned what Q did for a living, and the worst looks Q got was just one awkward stare from Tanner - but then the older man spoke up and said, “I cooked ham. Well, it was pre-cooked and I heated it up, but there’s food.” It was said with such indearing sincerity that suddenly Q couldn’t have been bothered even if Tanner had up and called him a slut right then. At the mention of food, everyone got excited, and soon ham and potatoes and gravy were being dished out in James’ little kitchen. The table didn’t have enough chairs, so R ended up perching on the counter to eat, and Eve shamelessly dragged over a seat from the living room - clearly, she was fairly at home in Bond’s house, because he didn’t even bat an eye at the hostile takeover. Q couldn’t remember the last time that he’d had a proper Christmas meal with such relaxed people.

No one exchanged gifts, but it still felt like they were. Tanner had brought all of the food and prepared it, after all, which was already a gift in anyone’s books. When Q took off James’ gloves with a blush so that he could eat (James assuring Q that his Spelleater powers were on, so that the gloves wouldn’t be necessary to keep Q in human form), Eve came up and put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t have all of the supplies yet because it’s Christmas and you can’t get anything today,” she said, rolling expressive brown eyes, “but I’ve already started making you a set of gloves like Bond’s - but fingerless. I honestly think you need them more than he does.”

“Says the woman who makes a face whenever she’s stuck dealing with my aura,” James called out from across the room. Somehow, he’d heard them. 

Eve was quick to snap back, “Hey, do you see me making a face now? Your power is all over this house, but I am _not _complaining.”

Everyone snickered because it sounded a bit like she was. Nonetheless, it seemed that these people were pretty at ease around James’ particular, rare abilities, which in turn relaxed Q a bit more. 

Over supper, R’s gift became known, in the form of a lively conversation with Q. Out of the blue, she started talking about one of his ideas - a techno-athame. When Q expressed surprise, R let slip that James had told her about it, and then immediately dove back into how interested she was in seeing Q’s design come to fruition. It wasn’t often that Q got his ego stroked these days, but now he felt like the absolute center of attention in the best way as R veritably gushed over his ideas. She even had a picture of his napkin-drawn design on her phone, and Q would have gone to find his original design, except Eve reminded the two of them that they had to eat before the food got cold. The banter continued between bites of delicious food, but Q also spared a few moments to glance over at Bond. The man looked content to be in the background, eating and smiling and making the occasional comment, sometimes just talking to Tanner when the other three got absorbed in technical-magical talk about glyphs or athames. But the fact remained that no one but Bond could have talked to R - seemingly the perfect person to help Q’s ideas become something real - and Q began to strongly suspect that this entire evening had been Bond’s plan. 

Eventually food led to alcohol, and instead of the usual anxiety Q felt when faced with the prospect of getting drunk around others (in his line of work, alcohol was _never_ a good idea), he felt strangely freed. It helped that no one seemed hell-bent on getting wildly drunk, and Q found himself realizing, ‘_This is how social drinking is supposed to work,_’ while also realizing that he’d never really had that. His parents had had a low opinion on alcohol as well as magic and many other things. Q decided that he liked it.

Or, at least, he liked sitting in the living room with R, Tanner, and Moneypenny, with James lounging directly to his left and all of them recounting various past stories. It didn’t even matter that the others had a shared history that Q didn’t factor into. All it took for Q to be included again would be for James to unexpectedly ask Q about some project he’d talked about earlier, and suddenly the boffin had something to contribute - and sure, not everyone was able to keep up, but R was clearly fascinated and the others were good listeners. James in particular seemed content to just sit back, an arm slung over the sofa behind Q, a small, amused smile on his face as he watched the exchange. 

Eventually, everyone went home, Q somehow getting a hug from each of them - even a very awkward one from Tanner, who said that he’d come back for his pans and stuff in the morning. They all called a cab. 

Once the flat was quiet again, Q, feeling warm in a way that he didn’t think had anything to do with the alcohol, turned to find James. The man had already retreated to the kitchen sink - he’d promised to clean up, since Tanner had been gracious enough to cook.

“You set all of this up, didn’t you?” Q asked quietly.

James turned his head enough to look at Q briefly out of the corner of one eye, then went back to filling the sink and adding dish-soap. “I may have made a few calls, and Eve is always lamenting that I don’t celebrate holidays properly.”

“No but, I mean…” Q struggled with how to grasp all of this, and form it into words. He stepped forward until he was at James’ elbow. When the man turned to look at Q with a raised eyebrow, Q wet his lips and tried again, “Not just calling people over, but… R and I have plans now to build my invention.”

“Yes,” James said, eyebrow still raised as if Q were stating the obvious. Which Q was. But that just meant James was being purposefully dense and refusing to read between the lines, into all that this meant to Q.

So the boffin went on, leaning a bit closer to try and get his point across, “And Eve is already following through on those cold-iron gloves you mentioned to her - despite the fact that I know they’re not easy or pleasant for her to make.”

“Moneypenny is a very giving person, once you get on her good side.”

“James!” Q snapped, cutting off any more deft diversions. James stopped cleaning off a plate to look at him. “James, it’s not that your friends came over and… and cooked, and promised to give me things. It’s that…” Q dragged a hand back through his hair, feeling a hot wetness against his lashes. “It’s that your friends came over and became _my friends_. That means a lot to me. You have no idea.”

The carefully careless demeanor that James had been maintaining finally slipped, and something warm and understanding morphed his expression in subtle ways. His eyes softened, his smile became smaller while simultaneously more real. “It’s the least you deserve,” James said with gentle sincerity, “I mean, it’s Christmas, after all.”

“I think that this is the best gift that anyone has ever given me.”

James, the man who had listened to Q talk about sex multiple times today without blushing, turned his head now, ducking back towards the dishes as if they needed his utmost attention. Because Q wasn’t having any of that, he got the blond-haired man’s attention again by asking, “So, do I get a Christmas hug from you, too?”

Blue eyes snapped back to Q in surprise, and then James coughed on a small laugh. This time his smile was happy and amused. He lifted his hands from the water, saying, “Well, I’m covered in soapy water…”

“Good thing I’m wearing your clothes then,” Q said with an arch little lift of his head, and with that, he stepped forward, refusing to admit that he held his breath with every step. He felt anxiety grip his throat as he moved determinedly into James’ person space… and then felt all of that tension leave him in a woosh of breath as James obliged and wrapped muscular (and sudsy) arms around his back. Impromptu as it was, this was also one of the best hugs that Q could remember, too. Or perhaps he just hadn’t had very many hugs at all in a very long time. 

And James didn’t rush to let him go either. The two just stood there, Q’s arms coming up to encircle James’ chest, and James letting one arm cinch Q’s waist while the other idly rubbed between Q’s shoulder-blades. “I know that this all began with something terrible,” James murmured, his voice a gentle, rumbling thunder against Q’s body, “but merry Christmas, Q.”

The two stood there for a long time - until Q felt certain that whatever was to come, he’d be able to handle it now that he’d made a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for coming along on this wild ride! This is, if you haven't heard already, meant to be the start of a series - this is the angst+fluff beginning, and a lot of the politics (and Kingsmen shenanigans) will really get thrown in later. However, this is where the first arc stops, and I'll get back to this as soon as my teaching schedule allows :P Until then - I hope everyone enjoyed always-a-cat!Q and soft-and-squish-on-the-inside!James ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to read all of my notes on this AU (or write in this AU yourself), go to [this wordpress page](https://only1truthfanfiction.wordpress.com/worldbuilding-of-if-magic-were-known/?preview_id=512&preview_nonce=d0b54ca328&_thumbnail_id=535&preview=true), where I've provided more of my current notes.
> 
> As a side-note, a 'caim' is another word for a protective circle :)


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